Animals Are People

A chapter from Animals Are People by Peter Morville

Chapter 19

Dark clouds part. Plumage sparkles in moonlight. I freeze. A dozen or so pheasants roost in nearby trees and grasses. If any one of them sees or hears, all will burst into the night sky. Darkness returns. I take a step. The breeze whispers. My mouth waters. I take a step. It feels good to be outside. It feels good to hunt. But I must take care not to kill. My pups need to play. My pups need to practice. My pups need to eat. I’m close. I hear him breathe. In. Out. In. I take a step. I freeze. I see them in my mind’s eye — five red fox cubs. So beautiful. So needful. I take another step.

The rustle of a leaf, a tingle of fear, wings flutter as I turn. A flash of fur and yellow eyes. The coyote sinks his fangs into my rump. Searing pain. A surge of anger. I twist and lunge. All I get is a mouthful of fur. He’s huge, three times my size. He’s got me by the throat. He lifts and shakes. It’s all a blur. Then he’s gone. I need to get up. To go home. To feed my pups. But I can’t even raise my head off the damp earth. I’m cold. It hurts to breathe. I close my eyes to rest.

When I awaken, the sky is dark, the earth is dank. My neck hurts. I’m dying. I hear slow, steady breathing to my left. 

It’s Ghost. The dampness is sweat, not blood. My sheets are soaked. I had a nightmare, or a vision. Either way, it was fucking awful. I’m safe. I know it. But I don’t feel it. I scooch over towards the middle of the bed and flip my pillow. I call Ghost. She hops up. I wrap an arm around my beloved wolfdog, lay my head down, and tell myself that there’s no coyote, and that I’m safe. I close my eyes to rest.

By the time class begins, the fear has faded. It all seems silly in the light of day. I am not a fox. There is no coyote. It was just a dream. Everything is fine. Inari waves and smiles. “Good morning! How are you feeling, Jo?”

“I’m fine. But Mary Midgley is as lame as a duck.”

“I know my news last week came as a shock. I talked with your mum. And I know you did too. Let’s reserve time at the end of class to talk some more. We’ll get it all sorted.”

“Sure. But, like I said, I’m fine.”

“Okay, Jo. So what’s your beef with Mary?”

“Inari, you said that Mary Midgley is your favorite philosopher. But most of what she writes is obvious. In Animals and Why They Mattershe says, ‘The special importance of sentience or consciousness in a being outside ourselves is that it can give that being experiences sufficiently like our own to bring into play the Golden Rule — treat others as you would wish them to treat you.’ Duh!”

“I can see why you’d say that. What Mary says is obvious to us, but not to most. Jo, I want you to know she inspired my career. She argued for animals and emotion when it was dangerous to do so. Mary was a badass who fought the canon and spoke truth to power. She’s the reason I’m a philosopher. She’s the muse of this class. For millennia, men used reason or rationality as an excuse to exclude animals from moral concern. Man alone has a rational, immortal soul. I think, therefore I am. Mary tore down that wall. She says, ‘the relation between emotion and reason is a very central crux of our lives,’ and ‘all argument involves trying to change feelings, because all belief involves feeling.’ She says, ‘the emotion of fear involves the belief that there is danger.’ She asks ‘What is reason? Is it really a single faculty in man, unshared by any animal? And is that faculty really all that we value in humanity?’ Mary single-handedly collapses the false binary of reason and emotion. We think-feel, therefore we are. Brilliant, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Tough audience. With respect to the obvious, Mary says,”

…the subtle way in which our thoughts depend on a mass of unstated assumptions and images, very much as our physical life depends on the hidden shifting masses of the earth beneath us, of which we know nothing. We don’t notice this background till things start to go wrong — until, so to speak, the smell coming up from below is so bad we are forced to take up the floorboards and do something about it. That is why I have suggested philosophy is best understood as a form of plumbing.

“So, philosophers are like toilets, mostly full of shit.”

“Ha! I see you’re in a mood today. Let’s move on. I asked you to read up on animal activism. Jo, tell me about ALF.”

“Sure. The Animal Liberation Front is a nonviolent resistance movement that frees animals from abuse, exposes atrocities committed against animals, and inflicts economic damage on those who profit from the misery and exploitation of animals. ALF inspired me to save Ghost.”

“Jo, you forgot to mention all the violence, bombing, and arson. The FBI says ALF is a domestic terrorism threat.”

“ALF takes all reasonable precautions to avoid harm to human and non-human life. They act on principles and take philosophy seriously. They quote Martin Luther King who says, ‘an unjust law is no law at all,’ and Frederick Douglass who says, ‘Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.’ Activists are often in danger of injury and arrest, but as Peter Young says, ‘Opinions are just words until you take a risk for them.’”

“You frighten me, Jo. Do the ends justify the means? And do you really think terrorism is effective in the long run?”

“ALF saves lots of starfish, and they make abusers think twice. But I agree that legal means are more effective. That’s why I love PETA. Ingrid Newkirk is a total badass.”

“Jo, this conversation is not going the way that I hoped. But let’s keep going. Tell me what you know about PETA.”

“People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals is a nonprofit opposed to speciesism, human supremacy, and cruelty in laboratories, factory farms, fashion, and entertainment. Tactics include investigative journalism, public education, animal rescue, and protest campaigns.”

“But they throw paint on celebrities, expose people to sickening videos, and objectify women in naked celebrity ads. Jo, do you think shock tactics work in the long run?”

“PETA holds up a mirror. If folks don’t like what they see, too fucking bad. Don’t blame the messenger! PETA uses shock tactics because they work. PETA is the world’s largest and most famous animal rights organization. Over nine million members support their activism, which closes slaughterhouses, stops animal testing, passes legislation, promotes veganism, and frees animals. PETA is behind almost every good thing that happens for animals.”

“Jo, how about the PETA shelter in Virginia, where they kill thousands of dogs and cats a year? It’s horrible.”

“Now you’re pissing me off. It’s a shelter of last resort. All those animals are either dangerous or terminally ill. Euthanasia ends their suffering. Watch the documentary. PETA is made of people who love animals, and act on their behalf. Inari, all you ever do is think. Plato says, ‘silence gives consent,’ and Elie Wiesel says, ‘We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.’”

“I’m neither neutral nor silent. But I do take your point. We need both philosophers and warriors. You favor the latter. I respect that. And I don’t mean to upset you. So let’s agree to disagree. I’m not sure either of us knows the full story behind that PETA shelter. The truth gets obscured by the fog of war. Jo, let’s take a break. I’ll see you in ten.”

Ghost and I rumble downstairs. The kitchen smells good. Mom’s cooking. “Hey there, Jo. How’s philosophy class?”

“Boring. What can I eat?”

“The potato leek soup is for dinner. How about an apple?”

“Yuck! Why do we never have good snacks?” I grab a coke and a bag of chips and retreat to my bedroom. I hate rain. My head hurts. Outside, it’s all clouds and mud. All I want to do is curl into a ball and sleep. But Inari is ready to roll.

“Let’s talk death. Ever heard of Schrödinger’s Opossum?”

“Nope.”

“It’s a book by Susana Monsó. The synopsis reads,”

When the opossum feels threatened, it freezes, with its eyes and mouth open in a petrified grimace, its body temperature and breathing reduced to a minimum, its tongue displaying a bluish hue and its anal glands smelling rotten. Despite this disguise of a rotting corpse, she remains aware of her surroundings, ready to return to action. Like the cat in Schrödinger’s famous paradox, the opossum is alive and dead at the same time.

“Jo, why does an opossum play dead?”

“I guess it’s because a predator won’t eat carrion.”

“Right. To avoid the risk of disease, predators evolved to know death. Monsó studies responses to death and dying across species. Elephants bury their dead. They weep and wail. Chimpanzee mothers carry their dead infants for weeks. Often, these moms in mourning refuse to eat, and in some cases, they starve to death. Grief is exhibited by dolphins, whales, giraffes, dogs, horses, cats, and crows.”

“That’s depressing. What’s your point?”

“I guess it’s my way of talking with you about ALS. Jo, I want you to know that I don’t fear death, and that I don’t want you to be afraid either. We all die. Death is natural. So is grief. There’s a wonderful book by Francis Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow. I’m sending you a copy. He says, ‘Sorrow helps us remember something long intuited by indigenous people across the planet: our lives are intricately commingled with one another, with animals, plants, watersheds, and soil,’ and ‘Our personal experiences of loss and suffering are now bound inextricably with dying coral reefs, melting polar caps, the silencing of languages, the collapse of democracy, and the fading of civilization. The personal and the planetary are inseparable.’ Jo, we are all deeply intertwingled.”

“Death may be natural, but that doesn’t mean it’s good. Did you know that coyotes kill foxes just to get rid of the competition? And they devour their prey while it’s still alive and kicking. Nature is fucking brutal.”

“You’re not wrong, Jo. I’ve read up on ALS. It’s not a disease I’d wish on my worst enemy. I do fear suffering and the loss of my independence and dignity. And I don’t want to die. I’m barely fifty. I wish I had more time. But while I have yet to attain enlightenment or non-attachment, I will let go when the time comes. Euthanasia means a good death. And that’s what I want.”

“Jesus Christ! Do you plan to kill yourself?”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to alarm you. ALS is a slow assassin. I have more time. But I won’t wait too long. Stephen Jenkinson says, ‘Dying is what you do. It is not what is done to you.’ I live on my terms, and that’s how I intend to die. Francis Weller says, ‘Even as we recognize our own inevitable ending, there arises a feeling of gratitude, of grace, that we have been gifted with this time, these particular people, and this astonishing planet.’ Jo, that’s what I want you to know. I am grateful to be your teacher. Our time together is a gift. What we have is enough.”

I’m still in a muddle when I sit down to dinner. Do I tell my parents that Inari is threatening suicide? Is that even legal? And why tell me? I’m just a teenager. I can’t deal.

“Abi, this soup is delicious,” says Dad.

“I’m glad you like it. It turns out that coconut milk is a perfectly good vegan substitute for chicken broth.”

“And this baguette!” Dad tears himself another hunk. “There’s nothing like homemade bread, fresh out of the oven. Reminds me of growing up on the farm. Mom made bread all the time in our brick oven. Those were the days.”

“Save some for Jo. She hasn’t had any. Jo, are you okay?”

“I want to visit Inari.”

“What?” asks Dad.

“I want to visit Inari in Oregon.”

“Why? I don’t get it. She’s just your teacher. Is it the ALS?”

“They are not just my teacher, Dad. Inari is my best friend. And they are suffering and dying. I need to be there.”

“That’s crazy,” says Dad. “Inari is our age, not yours. Jo, you need to make friends your own age. I’m sure that Inari has friends nearby who can help them. And travel is expensive these days. You can’t go. We just can’t afford it.”

“Dad, you moved us away from my friends to the middle of nowhere. And now, all you do is work. I spend more time with Inari than with you. Inari and I have a relationship. They get me. Unlike you, Inari knows animals are people.”

Dad looks mad enough to drown puppies.

“For the love of God, Jo — animals are not people!”

“Will, it’s okay. Jo’s upset. Her teacher is sick. Eat your soup before it gets cold. Let’s stay on track and leave the animals out of it. Jo, did you and Inari talk about a visit?”

“No! Let’s deal with the elephant in the room. I’m tired of ducking the issue. Ghost is a person, not a thing. She is a unique personality and a sentient being worthy of love, compassion, and moral status. So is every cow on your farm. What part of ‘animals are people’ don’t you get?”

“It’s absurd, Jo. A person is a human.”

“Okay, Dad, then why does the word exist? Let’s look it up. Here we go. Wikipedia says that a person ‘is a being who has certain capacities or attributes such as reason, morality, consciousness or self-consciousness.’”

“But animals don’t have those attributes. Cows don’t agonize over ethics. And my cows can’t do calculus either.”

“Animals do have those attributes. You’re just pig-ignorant. Elephants, dolphins, and crows pass the mirror test. They are self-aware. Whales, chimpanzees, and wolves all enforce social norms. They exhibit the moral behaviors of trust, reciprocity, punishment, forgiveness, guilt, empathy, and grief. Animals do make rational decisions. In a perilous world, that’s how they stay alive!”

The dusty swirl of fear, guilt, and anger I feel from all that’s happened — my visions and animal liberations, the loss of Buffy, the theft of Bodhi, Gage’s assault, Inari’s dying — coalesces into a raging tornado. I know it’s not rational, but I blame Dad. I know it’s not fair, but I’m too far gone.

“Animals do think, but that’s not the point. You don’t need calculus to count. Jeremy Bentham says, ‘the question is not, Can they reason? Nor, can they talk? But, can they suffer?’ Each animal inhabits a unique sensory world, an umwelt. We may not know what it’s like to be a bat. But we know she is a person who thinks and feels. It’s obvious!”

“Jo, please.” Mom tries. But you can’t stop a tornado!

“Only you can’t see, since you earn a living on the backs of animals. So you say it’s the way things are. You tell yourself you’re a good person. You use motivated reasoning to wriggle off the hook. But I see you, Dad. You’re a speciesist and a supremacist and a murderer. And you disgust me!”

“Fuck you, Jo!” Dad shoves his chair back so hard it falls over. He stands, walks out. The door slams. I’m speechless.

Mom sighs. “Really, Jo?”

“This is bullshit. He can’t fucking talk to me like that. And, of course, Mom, you take Dad’s side, like you always do.”

“I’m not taking sides, Jo. I know you’re hurting. And if you and Inari want to meet, I’ll support that. But your dad is hurting too. The farm is failing. He’s put in a year of blood, sweat, and tears with no sign of profit. And my consulting has dried up. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. But your dad is under a lot of stress. And you went for the jugular. To say he disgusts you, that’s vicious. You need to apologize.”

“I didn’t know it was so bad.”

“I’m applying for jobs. We’ll work it out. In the meantime, let’s all try to get along. And by the way, I’m impressed by your argument. You make a strong case that animals are people. Jo, you are becoming a formidable philosopher.”

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

A chapter from Animals Are People by Peter Morville