Do animals have a right not to be eaten?
First I'd like to point out that there seems to be a running assumption that humans already have a right not to be eaten; the assumption is inferable due to the fact that "animals" is the subject in question, not humans. In today's world, there is not a matter of public controversy concerning whether it's fine to eat humans-- it is simply wrong. This is a taboo which cannot really be justified any further in our society. It may be worth mentioning that many primitive societies did practice cannibalism, so that it wasn't taboo in all historical circumstances, so it cannot be defined as an absolute law, not even by Kant's categorical imperative strategy.
Let us rephrase the question, then: assuming humans possess the right not to be eaten, do animals have the same right?
We need to further refine the question, however. For we could imagine two situations in which this question is applicable: one, in which an animal is treated humanely throughout its life, then dies naturally, and consequently we have to ask the question: do we have the right to eat it? The same question could be applied to a human who lived a long and natural life. Do we have the right to eat him after he dies?
The other situation involves the necessary conditions that have to be established for a meat-consuming society, and to make things as clear as possible we should subtract the eating component from this side of the question. The conditions in question are the establishment of inhumane practices that treat animals' lives as parts of an assembly line. Are the suffering an animal experiences over the course of its life in this assembly line wrong? Once again, the same question could be asked concerning a human: if we forced a human to experience all the suffering an animal did in the assembly line we created, would it be wrong?
Four questions now. Let us rehash:
1) Is it wrong to eat a dead human, regardless of what kind of life he lived?
2) Is it wrong to eat a dead animal, regardless of what kind of life it lived?
3) Is it wrong to treat a human as an item on an assembly line?
4) Is it wrong to treat an animal as an item on an assembly line?
Now let us imagine a number of different people came to answer these questions. The first is a cannibal who believes in the sacredness of life. The second is an animal rights activist. The third is an average American who just enjoys his hamburger.
The cannibal would say:
1&2) It's fine to eat a dead human or a dead animal.
3&4) It's not okay to treat any living thing as part of an assembly line.
Animal Rights Activist:
1&2) It's not okay to eat dead animals or dead humans.
3&4) It's not okay to treat animals or humans as parts of assembly lines.
Average American:
1&2) It's okay to eat dead animals, NOT dead humans.
3&4) It's okay to treat animals as part of an assembly line; NOT so for humans.
The average American is the only one who places special status on the species human. Can this special status for humans be justified?
It has been proposed that humans are the only beings on Earth capable of deep reflection upon their past experiences. Humans have the most complex understanding of the self, which makes their suffering far greater than any animal's could ever be.
But imagine that an alien race descended upon Earth and enslaved the race of man, treating them like cattle. This alien race had such a level of intelligence that it dwarfed man's cognitive abilities. To this race of aliens, humans were nothing special; though we could reflect, we could not perform what they might call "reflection squared"-- we'll just make up this term, which will serve as a cognitive ability the aliens use to justify their treatment of humans.
Does this alien race perform an act that is morally wrong? By our "reflection" rule, yes! By the aliens' "reflection squared" rule, no!
The line that differentiates humans and animals can be drawn however one pleases. We could say chimps and men both possess a sufficient level of consciousness that neither should be subject to prolonged suffering... but we draw the line at human consciousness.
What about just eating humans and animals, then? I haven't heard any ethical arguments against those, except that it might be healthier to stick to vegetables.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Love
Whenever we love, we stumble upon something truly enigmatic. It is at once superficial, yet inexplicable: a "crush" will fall apart into oblivion, or perhaps instead turn into something quite different, what might be called an emotional investment. Marriage is an imprisoning social contract which some, with sufficient willpower, can break and by doing so, reforge their lives.
The only thing which makes love important, pragmatically speaking, is the consequence we have all come to expect and desire, for one reason or another: offspring. Undesired pregnancies abound, revealing that the mechanism of love is still performing its intended function. Does that not repulse you? Or does that fill you with awe? Perhaps a little of both.
But why should it be repulsing? The images in themselves have been tainted: the fluids, the taboo of pornography and blazing harshness of the raw flesh, reveal within us a cringing coward who dares not embrace the concept of sexuality. It is a silent thing that belongs to the night, unseen except by one secret companion. (or perhaps more than one?)
And yet then, why should it fill us with awe? Paradoxically for the very opposite reasons; we stand amazed at witnessing the act of creation, a soul of new innocence unfold into the complexity of the world. What was ugly in man has become beautiful in his child.
There are those who perhaps see the complete opposite for each; who admire adult human flesh, and hate the wailing of the newborn with passion.
Regardless of what you feel your reasons for these feelings to be, I suspect to some extent they exist in us all-- the duality of revulsion and awe at our own bodies, as well as concerning those of the desired sex. What next?
What is gained by love? What is lost by abstaining from it? These questions can only be answered by taking a path that cannot be easily returned by. Commitments are never easy to retreat from.
What is gained by abstaining from love? What is lost by pursuing it?
The same questions, inverted. But the same questions could be applied to any aspect of your life. How would your life have been different if you'd pursued politics instead of medicine? Public service instead of law? You would be different.
Pragmatically speaking, if you pursued love, you would likely have a child, and know what it is to be a parent.
If you did not, you would experience much more that you would never have had time for, had you taken care of a child instead.
We can think in terms of selfishness-- that a selfish man would obviously not pursue love. Only superficial love, love that satisfied his appetites, but not committing love that results in a family.
Why is this so important? Consider at least this. For every human being who has survived until adulthood, there have been those who have taken care of him. These humans performed the function of parents. Do you want to know what the experience of this function is like? Do you have any idea of how it would feel? The emotions that would course through you? You do not, at least, not until you perform that function.
What does it mean to be human? Is it to philosophize? Not at all. Philosophy only becomes an interest when all other avenues are exhausted. It is defined as ultimatum. Being human is far more inevitable. We feel the call night and day. We see children and families together all the time. That is the pressure pushing us towards this continuation.
One could choose not to be human, to make goals and destinies for himself that do not include love. This man would not be human. He would accomplish things I would probably characterize as inhuman. Is that bad? I cannot say. It is another question. All I can say is that neither path looks particularly appealing at the moment. That is a frightening thought.
The only thing which makes love important, pragmatically speaking, is the consequence we have all come to expect and desire, for one reason or another: offspring. Undesired pregnancies abound, revealing that the mechanism of love is still performing its intended function. Does that not repulse you? Or does that fill you with awe? Perhaps a little of both.
But why should it be repulsing? The images in themselves have been tainted: the fluids, the taboo of pornography and blazing harshness of the raw flesh, reveal within us a cringing coward who dares not embrace the concept of sexuality. It is a silent thing that belongs to the night, unseen except by one secret companion. (or perhaps more than one?)
And yet then, why should it fill us with awe? Paradoxically for the very opposite reasons; we stand amazed at witnessing the act of creation, a soul of new innocence unfold into the complexity of the world. What was ugly in man has become beautiful in his child.
There are those who perhaps see the complete opposite for each; who admire adult human flesh, and hate the wailing of the newborn with passion.
Regardless of what you feel your reasons for these feelings to be, I suspect to some extent they exist in us all-- the duality of revulsion and awe at our own bodies, as well as concerning those of the desired sex. What next?
What is gained by love? What is lost by abstaining from it? These questions can only be answered by taking a path that cannot be easily returned by. Commitments are never easy to retreat from.
What is gained by abstaining from love? What is lost by pursuing it?
The same questions, inverted. But the same questions could be applied to any aspect of your life. How would your life have been different if you'd pursued politics instead of medicine? Public service instead of law? You would be different.
Pragmatically speaking, if you pursued love, you would likely have a child, and know what it is to be a parent.
If you did not, you would experience much more that you would never have had time for, had you taken care of a child instead.
We can think in terms of selfishness-- that a selfish man would obviously not pursue love. Only superficial love, love that satisfied his appetites, but not committing love that results in a family.
Why is this so important? Consider at least this. For every human being who has survived until adulthood, there have been those who have taken care of him. These humans performed the function of parents. Do you want to know what the experience of this function is like? Do you have any idea of how it would feel? The emotions that would course through you? You do not, at least, not until you perform that function.
What does it mean to be human? Is it to philosophize? Not at all. Philosophy only becomes an interest when all other avenues are exhausted. It is defined as ultimatum. Being human is far more inevitable. We feel the call night and day. We see children and families together all the time. That is the pressure pushing us towards this continuation.
One could choose not to be human, to make goals and destinies for himself that do not include love. This man would not be human. He would accomplish things I would probably characterize as inhuman. Is that bad? I cannot say. It is another question. All I can say is that neither path looks particularly appealing at the moment. That is a frightening thought.
Big Questions
Let us imagine that you are taking care of a six year old girl with an insatiable curiosity. You need to do a series of chores until such time that her parents return, and yet she refuses to be left alone. Instead, she prefers to follow you around as you perform each chore. You start by putting clothes in the washing machine. When you put soap in afterwards, she asks why you did. You explain that the soap is what allows the clothes to get clean.
"Why is that?" she asks in response. You explain that soap is a base, which corrodes certain materials more than others, and so will remove the ugly stains that are currently on the dirty clothes.
"And how does the base do that?" she asks. You get into excruciating detail, trying to remember the organic chemistry you took in college; you even take out the molecular kit you still have lying around and try to get her to play with that. To no avail.
"Why does the hydrogen get given to the stain? Why does that make the stain fall off the clothes? Why don't the clothes fall apart?"
You cannot answer any more of these questions off the top of your head. You go online and do some research until you find answers that satisfy you-- answers which actually relate to the molecular orbitals formed, and the electrons that form each bond. When you relate these answers to her, she only has more questions. You throw up your hands in despair and give up-- an answer may have been discovered, but you are fairly certain that whatever the answer is, it is beyond your immediate ability to comprehend. This little girl has already probed the boundaries of knowledge, and she has only asked five series of whys.
This little girl has the same spirit as the most profound philosophers; the only difference being she has not acquired the vocabulary to fully express herself. Rather, she is in the process of acquiring this vocabulary by asking this recurring question, "why?"
A lesson to take from this scenario is that there will always be more questions. The philosopher may take a question that normally we would not even bother to answer, such as "Why do I want to live?" or "Why do I think I have free will?" These are very difficult questions to answer, questions which shake us to our very foundations if properly investigated. The beautiful thing about such questions, however, is that the answer will satisfy if investigated for a sufficient length of time.
The little girl was not satisfied-- this is what made her profound. A philosopher might investigate one of the above questions-- on the subject of life and free will-- and find a suitable explanation. The problem is, that every time an answer is attained, the answer will inevitably lead to more questions. This is the lesson to be learned from the scenario. This is the lesson to be taught to all would-be philosophers, who have a desire to be profound.
"Why is that?" she asks in response. You explain that soap is a base, which corrodes certain materials more than others, and so will remove the ugly stains that are currently on the dirty clothes.
"And how does the base do that?" she asks. You get into excruciating detail, trying to remember the organic chemistry you took in college; you even take out the molecular kit you still have lying around and try to get her to play with that. To no avail.
"Why does the hydrogen get given to the stain? Why does that make the stain fall off the clothes? Why don't the clothes fall apart?"
You cannot answer any more of these questions off the top of your head. You go online and do some research until you find answers that satisfy you-- answers which actually relate to the molecular orbitals formed, and the electrons that form each bond. When you relate these answers to her, she only has more questions. You throw up your hands in despair and give up-- an answer may have been discovered, but you are fairly certain that whatever the answer is, it is beyond your immediate ability to comprehend. This little girl has already probed the boundaries of knowledge, and she has only asked five series of whys.
This little girl has the same spirit as the most profound philosophers; the only difference being she has not acquired the vocabulary to fully express herself. Rather, she is in the process of acquiring this vocabulary by asking this recurring question, "why?"
A lesson to take from this scenario is that there will always be more questions. The philosopher may take a question that normally we would not even bother to answer, such as "Why do I want to live?" or "Why do I think I have free will?" These are very difficult questions to answer, questions which shake us to our very foundations if properly investigated. The beautiful thing about such questions, however, is that the answer will satisfy if investigated for a sufficient length of time.
The little girl was not satisfied-- this is what made her profound. A philosopher might investigate one of the above questions-- on the subject of life and free will-- and find a suitable explanation. The problem is, that every time an answer is attained, the answer will inevitably lead to more questions. This is the lesson to be learned from the scenario. This is the lesson to be taught to all would-be philosophers, who have a desire to be profound.
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