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Showing posts with label sentients rights. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sentients rights. Show all posts

Monday, June 26, 2017

Three Years Ago Today

Moral quandary: Omnivorous

By Moristotle

[Originally published on June 26, 2014, not one word different.]

What a plight to be of the human race –
grabbing everything, claiming every place,
    eating all kinds of animal
    (no laws yet make it criminal) –
were I pig or cow instead, I’d have no face.

Thursday, June 26, 2014

Thor's Day: Moral quandary

Omnivorous

By Morris Dean








What a plight to be of the human race –
grabbing everything, claiming every place,
    eating all kinds of animal
    (no laws yet make it criminal) –
were I pig or cow instead, I'd have no face.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Thor's Day: Of humans and animals

Animal Protection Society of Durham, NC
Trestina on species relations

By Morris Dean

Who calls someone an animal lover?

Sunday, June 3, 2012

Sunday morning

We took a quiet walk this morning through an older neighborhood just a quarter-mile from our back yard—but over the creek and "in the county" from us "in the city limits."








Because it was Sunday, the walk reminded me that we plan to visit Key West later this year. Only three degrees separate the walk and Key West, three links in the memory chain from the one to the other.
    Sunday morning—at any rate, a quiet one outside rather than inside cleaning up the kitchen while my wife and Siegfried go walking alone—sometimes puts me into a spiritual mood, or at least a deeply reflective one. And what else is a "spiritual mood" than a deeply reflective one? (Well, sometimes it's hardly reflective at all, just a feeling of "being at one.")
    Anyway, this morning's mood led directly to the poem "Sunday Morning," published in full in 1923 (and, I just learned from Wikipedia, "now in the public domain").
Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
As a calm darkens among water-lights...
...
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else
In any balm or beauty of the earth,
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
    It was a quick step from there to Wallace Stevens, the poem's author. Or maybe I thought of him first, and then of his poem.
    And thence to Key West, which Stevens visited numerous times from 1922 to 1940, where he generally lodged at Casa Marina, which opened in 1920. (We don't have reservations there.)

Harry S. Truman and Ernest Hemingway have historic sites in Key West, but so far I haven't discovered that Wallace Stevens has one (or Robert Frost, who tussled with Stevens there a time or two). I may have to take Stevens with me, in the form of his Collected Poetry & Prose in the American Library edition.
    It contains his essay, The Necessary Angel: Essays on Reality and the Imagination. I might read it again, see whether it speaks to me differently after fifty years.
    For a while on the walk I questioned my current plan (or recent plan, at any rate—the last time I told anyone it was my plan) to write a screenplay on the theme of animal rights. I wondered whether my spirit might be better served to try my hand again at poetry— birthed emblems of reflection (like most of Stevens's), or songs of feeling at one with one another human and with other animals and all life on Earth, and of the beauty of all, predator and prey alike.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

A taste of irony

Photo taken yesterday in Durham
Hogs are like humans...
When in their natural surroundings—not on factory farms—pigs are social, playful, protective animals who bond with each other, make nests, relax in the sun, and cool off in the mud. Pigs are known to dream, recognize their own names, learn "tricks" like sitting for a treat, and lead social lives of a complexity previously observed only in primates. Many pigs even sleep in "pig piles," much like dogs. Some love to cuddle and others prefer space.
    People who run animal sanctuaries that include pigs note that they are more similar to humans than you would guess. Like humans, pigs enjoy listening to music, playing with soccer balls, and getting massages. Pigs can even play video games!
                        –From "The Hidden Lives of Pigs"1
In many ways...
Researchers have found that pigs are among the quickest of animals to learn a new routine, and pigs can do a circus’s worth of tricks: jump hoops, bow and stand, spin and make wordlike sounds on command, roll out rugs, herd sheep, close and open cages, play videogames with joysticks, and more.
    Last week, an international team of biologists released the first draft sequence of the pig genome...Even on a cursory glance, “the pig genome compares favorably with the human genome...Very large sections are maintained in complete pieces,”...barely ch in the 100-million-plus years since the ancestors of hogs and humans diverged....
    Many physiological and behavioral parallels between humans and pigs are reflected in our respective genomes. Pig hearts are like our hearts, pigs metabolize drugs as we do, their teeth resemble our teeth, and their habits can, too. “I look at the pig as a great animal model for human lifestyle diseases...Pigs like to lie around, they like to drink if given the chance, they’ll smoke and watch TV.”
                        –From "Pigs Prove to Be Smart, if Not Vain," by Natalie Angier2
Maybe hogs do...go to heaven too3?
_______________
  1. On the website of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals
  2. Article in the November 9, 2009 edition of the New York Times
  3. Humans often throw...them a chance to go:

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Beyond the rail

Renaissance Concourse
Atlanta Airport Hotel
My room was on the ninth floor. Yesterday (Friday), standing a few feet from my door, I took the photo to the right. By my estimation, the Renaissance Concourse Atlanta Airport Hotel has at least two hundred rooms whose door is about ten feet from a short railing leading to misadventure. Maybe three hundred rooms, assuming that you might not have to fall but two or three floors to kill yourself. And you can't see it well from that photo, but the balcony for each floor along the far right juts out farther than the balcony below. There's no chance on that side of grabbing a railing on your way down (obvious from the photo below).
From an elevator opposite the
spot where the photo above was taken
    Upon my arrival Thursday morning for an overnight meeting, the sight of the balconies had made me feel uneasy—the same way I'd felt walking across San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge in 1967 or 68. I hugged the hotel balcony wall as I walked from the elevator to the far corner where it turned out Room 938 was located. (It was a good location so far as the window view was concerned.) When I returned to 938 at the end of the afternoon session, a housekeeper's cart blocked my way along the wall, so I had to get closer to the railing than I liked. I considered moving the cart, but I made myself buck up.
    Yesterday morning, preparing to go down for breakfast, I thought about calling the desk to send someone up to escort me to the elevator. The intervening hours had given me too much time to reflect on the Golden Gate Bridge Feeling—the sense that your body might suddenly try to jump over the rail and you wouldn't be able to stop it.
    It made me wonder how many suicides each year aren't really suicides in the sense of a willful act to do away with yourself, but just people's bodies acting on their own without the bodies' "owners" being able to intervene? Might be difficult to get statistics on that.
    Again, I steeled myself and went unescorted. I may have walked faster than the day before.
    But why was I having this uneasy feeling now? I'd been near high cliffs and rails quite a few times since 1967, and I had rarely had the feeling again.

When our meeting convened on Thursday afternoon, we'd all been asked to introduce ourselves and share "something interesting." Most of us already knew each other, from one or more previous annual meetings of our enterprise, but several people were new this year.
    When my turn came, I said,
In eleven days I'll no longer be who I am, so there seems to be little point in telling you who that was. But for those who don't know me yet I will say that this is my tenth annual meeting. I am, for the few days left before my retirement, the state coordinator for North Carolina.
    I've been asked one particular question so often lately, it might possibly be of interest to you how I'm dealing with the prospect of retirement.
    The most interesting thing about it to me is the strong polar-opposite feelings I have about it.
    On the one hand, I'm really glad to be leaving the organization I've worked in for fourteen years. One of the reasons is that it has already ceased to be what it was, and I very much dislike what it has become. Your organizations back home are hierarchical too. So has mine always been. But over the past few months it has become rigidly so—more top-down, more chain-of-command. The commands come down, and subservience is supposed to go back up. If you want to communicate with someone in a different part of the hierarchy, don't call them directly, but go up your chain to where the two hierarchies meet.
    Enough! I'll be relieved to escape my division's oppressive regime.
    But on the other hand, I'm already sad thinking that this is not only my tenth annual meeting—it's also my last. I'm going to miss working with all of you on our beloved tuition-savings program for college students in our states who want to pursue degrees that our own state doesn't offer. I'm going to miss each of you personally. We have become friends.
    Of course, no one likes to feel sad, so I'm trying to focus on the glad part of the situation —escaping the division I've worked in for fourteen years. I'll try to put off the sad part until later.
Well, the truth is I can't feel entirely glad about retiring from work that has given me a great deal of satisfaction. I think I'm feeling...diminished.
    It happens to many retirees. Some feel that they no longer have anything to live for, and a number of these die soon after their last day at work.
    Walking along the hotel balcony, think I feared that some hidden part of me might commandeer my body and pull or push it toward the rail....

After passing through the The Zimbabwe Exhibit at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta Airport yesterday afternoon, a World Wildlife Fund poster brought back a powerful feeling I'd had the day before on the flight to Atlanta. The sound of a young child talking to its parent had provoked in me a profound sense of vulnerability. My heart went out to that child. I ached with the knowledge that it would not always be taken care of, that it was subject to wanton hurt, ill-treatment, even abandonment. How helpless are our children, how dependent on us our pets and even the livestock we raise...to slaughter. How vulnerable wild animals subject to legal hunters, to poachers, to each other.
    On the plane, I thought it was the child's vulnerability I felt. Stopped before the poster of the young elephant and its mother, I thought it was the vulnerability of the small elephant.
    I suspect now it was my own vulnerability that was trying to speak to me.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Humanitarian inclusion

On my residential community's website the other day, someone asked whether anyone else had heard early-morning gunshots nearby. Someone else wondered whether local people were taking shots at the coyotes, which she had several times seen early in the morning as she headed out to work.
    A gun enthusiast in our community commented approvingly:
There is no closed season for coyotes, so as long as it is daylight, then you can hunt them. This area is also outside the city limits, so there are no limitations on discharging firearms. I am a hunter/shooter and I say more power to these folks if they are hunting coyotes. Coyote packs are a danger to small pets in the neighborhood and perhaps even to calves and small livestock in the pastures down the road.
    While predators of course need to be dealt with for such reasons as he gives (I do not condemn the killing of a home-invader, for example, if that's the only way to protect oneself or one's family), I asked this hunter/shooter to suggest humane ways to reduce the local coyote population. I pointed out that shooting them might not result in a clean kill, but only wound the animals and result in their prolonged suffering. I told him that I was opposed to hunting on philosophical grounds (and I cited my statement on sentients rights).
    This morning, I was thinking about the grounds of my opposition, but in doing so I misremembered characterizing the grounds as humanitarian rather than "philosophical." Humanitarian, of course, seems perfectly congruent with my asking the hunter about humane ways to deal with the coyotes.
    But opposition on humanitarian grounds doesn't seem quite right. Humanitarian is usually used in the context of the mistreatment of humans (human animals), even if humane has a wider berth—the humane treatment of animals is a common phrase, focusing on the idea that compassionate human beings would not treat animals badly.
    It didn't take me long to identify a nearly perfect synonym for humanitarian to include the mistreatment of other animals as well as human ones: sentientarian, derived easily from my statement of sentients rights.

I say nearly perfect. In fact, plants, too, are sentients, as my wife correctly observed (in attempting to demolish the moral foundation of my opposition to eating animals, but not to eating plants). "Plants can react to their environment. That's practically the definition of life."
    Which brings me back to a sentence from Wikipedia's entry on sentience, which I omitted in my statement on sentients rights:
For Eastern philosophy, sentience is a metaphysical quality of all things [emphasis mine] that requires respect and care.
(I myself avoid phrases like "metaphysical quality," however much they impressed me when I was in school.)
    Respect for life should of course take in respect for plants, but also for our environment, for our planet—the laboratory of our natural creation and evolution fueled by solar energy.
Rainer Maria Rilke
(1875-1926)
    And Rainer Maria Rilke (and others of a mystical bent, myself included) would count manufactured things as well. From the eighth of his Duino Elegies:
...Are we here, perhaps, for saying: house,
bridge, fountain, gate, jug, fruit-tree, window—
at most: column, tower......but for saying, realise,
oh, for a saying such as the things themselves would never
have profoundly said. Is not the secret intent
of this discreet Earth to draw lovers on,
so that each and every thing is delight within their feeling?
I didn't see it coming, that I would end up quoting Rilke this morning. But it is most agreeable to be reminded of the many transfixed hours I have spent reading his Duino Elegies, his Sonnets to Orpheus, and many others of his poems....
We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.
                [– Archaic Torso of Apollo, Stephen Mitchell's translation]

Friday, January 6, 2012

Sentients rights

About 225 years ago, Enlightenment philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) formulated a "categorical imperative," one version of which was that we "act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, never merely as a means to an end, but always at the same time as an end." [Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals]
    Yet another way of stating it is that we should respect the right of persons to be treated as ends in themselves (as existing for their own sake).

Recent reading encourages me to consider whether a unified statement of rights for both human animals and other animals might be useful.
    An article in the January 2 New York Times, "Animal Studies Cross Campus to Lecture Hall," reports that the Animals & Society Institute lists "more than 100 courses in American colleges and universities that fit under the broad banner of animal studies." Five of the courses are offered by three universities in the state where I live. Three of the courses are offered at Duke University in the area of women's studies, and two courses are offered, one at East Carolina University and another at North Carolina State University, in philosophy. The description of ECU's course, "Ethics and Animals," explicitly states the connection:
The primary goal of the course is to learn more about ethics or morality from considering the significance of animals in moral deliberation. In thinking about whether animals have rights, for example, we shall also need to ask wider questions such as, what are rights and how do they fit into the system of morality?.... [emphasis mine]
    I had realized in November, when attempting to lay the foundation for my own statement of animal rights, that the existence of any rights depends on prior agreements that have the force of law. And "any rights" includes those of humans, who even quite recently were held in slavery in many parts of the world and, if they are women, are still held virtually in slavery in many places. That is, the existence of human rights, too, depends on prior agreements that have the force of law.
    The Animals & Society Institute also states explicitly the connection between humans and other animals. The Institute's announced objectives are "to promote new and stricter animal protection laws, stop the cycle of violence between animal cruelty and human abuse, and learn more about our complex relationship with animals," and its website home page flatly asserts that there is a link between cruelty toward animals and violence toward humans.
    Agreements about both human and animal rights are becoming more enlightened.

A poignant case for animal rights is given by Steven Pinker in his most recent book, The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined:
Let me tell you about the worst thing I have ever done. In 1975, as a twenty-year-old sophomore, I got a summer job as a research assistant in an animal behavior lab. One evening the professor gave me an assignment. Among the rats in the lab was a runt that could not participate in the ongoing studies, so he wanted to use it to try out a new experiment. The first step was to train the rat in what was called a temporal avoidance conditioning procedure. The floor of a Skinner box was hooked up to a shock generator, and a timer that would shock the animal every six seconds unless it pressed a lever, which would give it a ten-second reprieve. Rats catch on quickly and press the lever every eight or nine seconds, postponing the shock indefinitely. [If this was well known, I wonder what the professor hoped to learn by subjecting yet another rat to the procedure.] All I had to do was throw [throw?] the rat in a box, start the timers, and go home for the night. When I arrived back at the lab early the next morning, I would find a fully conditioned rat. [Again, if he knew what he would find...?]
    But that was not what looked back at me when I opened the box in the morning. The rat had a grotesque crook in its spine and was shivering uncontrollably. Within a few seconds, it jumped with a start. It was nowhere near the lever. I realized that the rat had not learned to press the lever and had spent the night being shocked every six seconds. When I reached in to rescue it, I found it cold to the touch. I rushed it to the veterinarian two floors down, but it was too late, and the rat died an hour later. I had tortured an animal to death. [pp. 454-455]
    The episode is for me even more poignant (if that is possible) because I remember that when my wife and I collected seven-week old "Dark Cream Boy" (whom we renamed Siegfried), we were told that he had been "the runt of the litter." Had he been neglected because of it, perhaps ill-treated? Certain of Siegfried's behavioral characteristics suggest that he might have been.
    Pinker admits that as the experiment was being explained to him, "I had already sensed it was wrong."
Even if the procedure had gone perfectly, the rat would have spent twelve hours in constant anxiety, and I had enough experience to know that laboratory procedures don't always go perfectly. My professor was a radical behaviorist, for whom the question "What is it like to be a rat?" was simply incoherent. But I was not, and there was no doubt in my mind that a rat could feel pain. [emphasis mine] The professor wanted me in his lab; I knew that if I refused, nothing bad would happen. But I carried out the procedure anyway, reassured by the ethically spurious but psychologically reassuring principle that it was standard practice. [emphasis mine; p. 455]
    Pinker writes that he included the anecdote "to show what was standard practice in the treatment of animals at the time." And he summarizes even worse practices before stating:
I'm relieved to say that just five years later, indifference to the welfare of animals among scientists had become unthinkable, indeed illegal....[emphasis mine]
    Any scientist will also confirm that attitudes among scientists themselves have changed. Recent surveys have shown that animal researchers, virtually without exception, believe that laboratory animals feel pain. [emphasis mine] Today a scientist who was indifferent to the welfare of laboratory animals would be treated by his or her peers with contempt.
    The change in the treatment of laboratory animals is part of yet another rights revolution: the growing conviction that animals should not be subjected to unjustifiable pain, injury, and death....[emphasis mine; pp. 455-456]
    To say that agreements about rights are becoming more enlightened is equivalent to saying that standard practice is becoming more enlightened.

Richard Dawkins was quoted in the Times on September 19 (in the article "A Knack for Bashing Orthodoxy"):
"Consciousness has to be there, hasn’t it?...It’s an evolved, emergent quality of brains. It’s very likely that most mammals have consciousness, and probably birds, too."
    (He has embraced the Princeton University philosopher Peter Singer’s Great Ape Project, which would accord legal rights to apes, including a prohibition against torture.)
    When I invoked the comparison with human slavery above, I hadn't yet seen the first paragraph of Singer's paper explaining "why the [Great Ape] project":
Aristotle refers to human slaves as "animated property." The phrase exactly describes the current status of nonhuman animals. Human slavery therefore presents an enlightening parallel to this situation. [emphasis mine] We shall explore this parallel in order to single out a past response to human slavery that may suggest a suitable way of responding to present-day animal slavery.
So, what to call rights respecting both humans and other conscience beings? Something, perhaps, that identifies Dawkins's essential, common "emergent quality of brains" The terms consciousness and sentience are obvious possibilities, each of which has a paired term: conscious beings and sentient beings. The latter can also be rendered sentients; there doesn't seem to be such a term for the former.
    And Wikipedia's entry on sentience seems to establish a precedent for the use of that term in this context:
...The concept is central to the philosophy of animal rights, because sentience is necessary for the ability to suffer, which entails certain rights. In science fiction, non-human characters described as "sentient" typically have similar abilities, qualities, and rights as human beings.
Sentients rights, therefore, let it be. And can we update Kant accordingly?
Act in such a way that you treat sentients, whether in your own person or in the person of any other sentient, never merely as a means to an end, but always at the same time as an end.
    Yes, but only if we reach agreements to do so and write them into law. Notice that these agreements would need to address the eating of animals.
_______________
I might well have mentioned Sam Harris along with Pinker, Dawkins, and Singer. I quoted him on animal rights last April.