Animals Are People

A chapter from Animals Are People by Peter Morville

Chapter 23

We must go on. I’m hot and tired. My body aches. But sleep is death. Our babies won’t last the day if we can’t find water. There’s a source up ahead. I smell it. We should be there by nightfall. And so we beat on. I turn my head to look back. Shrouded in dust, five adult elephants and two babies follow in single file. The little ones cling to their mothers’ tails. No rain has fallen for sixteen moons. It’s never been this bad. I’m the only one who remembers the twelve moon drought. I was a baby. Much has changed, all for the worse. Yet culture endures. As matriarch, I am responsible for the tribe. Only I know where we might find water. The wisdom lives in me.

A rumble draws my attention. I stop to listen. I feel it before I hear it, vibrations in the ground and air. Our friends are telling us they found no water. Most likely, it was too deep. I reply with our location. And I offer hope. I expect they will follow us. Even more lives in my trust.

I remember the ending of our drought-forced odyssey, so many moons ago, the scent of water pulling us onwards, the sight of the great river, the joys of splashing and drinking, and the perils of prey and predator all in one place. Even if we make it — if we don’t die of heat or thirst, if we’re not blocked by man’s roads and fences, if the great river still exists — the destination is unsafe for our babies. But what choice do we have? All we can do is our best.

I’m so goddamn hot. My head is pounding. I roll over to escape the damp. My pillow and sheets are soaked in sweat. What a nightmare! I never want kids. I can’t take the worry. What a relief I’m not the matriarch. Then I remember Inari. My friend is dying. I don’t know what I expected. I was so excited for their visit. But it only made their frailty more real. After they left, all I felt was sad.

I roll out of bed. It’s light out. Not yet sunrise. But I can’t just lie here. Ghost and I head outside to check on the chickens. It was so hot last night, I didn’t know what to do. I watered my hens with the hose, and I sprayed the outside of the coop twice, hoping the evaporation would help. Still, they all sat on the roost, wings spread wide, panting in the dark. I hate to see them suffer. But what could I do? I open the door to the coop, and to my relief, all my hens are fine.

Class begins, but there’s no Inari. The meeting has started, video on, sound muted. All I can see is their blue mandala tapestry. Maybe they’re in the bathroom. I snag a book from the big stack on my nightstand. I’m three pages into The Philosopher and the Wolf when Inari interrupts.

“Hey, Jo, sorry I’m late. I had a dizzy spell and thought it best to lie down. Let’s start. Are you ready to defend the position that animals are people with scientific evidence?”

“For the record, I still think it’s obvious. The burden of proof is on the deniers. It’s absurd that the Cambridge Declaration on Consciousness needed to be written in 2012. But it did. So I guess it’s a good place to start. They say,” 

The absence of a neocortex does not appear to preclude an organism from experiencing affective states. Convergent evidence indicates that non-human animals have the neuroanatomical, neurochemical, and neurophysiological substrates of conscious states along with the capacity to exhibit intentional behaviors. Consequently, the weight of evidence indicates that humans are not unique in possessing the neurological substrates that generate consciousness. Non-human animals, including all mammals and birds, and many other creatures, including octopuses, also possess these neurological substrates.

“And how do they define consciousness, Jo?”

“They don’t. I like Carl Safina’s definition: ‘consciousness is the thing that feels like something.’ He says, ‘Cut your leg, that’s physical. If the cut hurts, you’re conscious.’ The 2024 New York Declaration on Animal Consciousness focuses on phenomenal consciousness or sentience and says, ‘the empirical evidence indicates at least a realistic possibility of conscious experience in all vertebrates including reptiles, amphibians, and fishes, and many invertebrates, including, at minimum, cephalopod mollusks, decapod crustaceans, and insects.’ Inari, the authors are so friggin’ conservative in their conclusions — a realistic possibility an octopus is conscious — way to go out on eight limbs!”

Inari cracks a smile, and their eyes sparkle. I smile back. I adore how we speak without words. “Good scientists are cautious. So that’s what they say. What’s your argument?”

“First, I should credit my sources: Carl Safina, Frans de Waal, Marc Bekoff, and Kristin Andrews. Oh, by the way, she’s the bee’s knees! To start, I was irritated. Kristin is so damn cautious. Every single claim must be supported by evidence. But then I realized that her carefulness builds credibility. It’s why Dr. Kristin Andrews, PhD is a trusted authority on animal cognition. Anyway, I organized my argument into two categories: biology and behavior.”

“So far so good, Jo.”

“Many animals are much like us with respect to anatomy and physiology. Rats, for instance, have the same organs: brain, heart, kidneys, liver, lungs; and the same senses: sight, smell, hearing, touch, taste. We make the same hormones, releasing cortisone under stress, oxytocin during sex, and dopamine in the midst of play. Scientists test drugs on animals because we’re alike. Depressed mice respond to Prozac. Anti-anxiety medications work on dogs and crayfish. Rats get addicted to cocaine and heroin. And brain scans reveal that our emotions and motivations arise in ancient regions that we share. In cats and humans, rage stirs in the same part of the brain.”

“Excellent, Jo. How did we wind up so alike?”

“Evolution! While folks love to say that chimpanzees and humans share 99 percent of their DNA, we are more than 50 percent genetically similar to all animals. And since evolution is conservative and keeps things that work, we all ended up with the same bundle. The biochemistry of emotion is ancient. Tickle a rat, she laughs. We all work the same way. It’s evidence-based and obvious!”

“Nice! Next?”

“Behavior. Ethology is a great antidote to human exceptionalism. Folks claim humans are the only animals who use tools. Then we learn that ants use leaves as sponges, herons fish with insects as bait, otters open shells with stones, gorillas use walking sticks, elephants swat flies with branches, octopuses use coconut shells as mobile homes, crows raise water levels in pitchers with pebbles, orangutans relieve pain with medicinal plants, dolphins use toxic puffer fish to get high, and chimpanzees create toolkits for honey extraction. Inari, the evidence of tool use is overwhelming. For God’s sake, even a blind man on a galloping horse could see it!”

“Ha! So what?”

“Cognition and consciousness are common. Many species exhibit what cognitive scientists call the executive functions of the brain: attention regulation, working memory, impulse control, fluid intelligence, reasoning, planning, and empathy. The mirror test is a dumb way to identify self-awareness, but it’s been passed by apes, dolphins, elephants, magpies, and ants. And most social animals exhibit theory of mind, morality, and culture. Rats free their friends from traps. Monkeys cry ‘leopard’ when their tribe is losing a fight. Wolves play fair and punish bad actors. Tigers seek revenge. Orcas teach their children what to hunt, and how. Crows use different calls to warn of cats, hawks, or humans. Dolphins understand vocabulary and syntax.”

“Is language necessary for consciousness?”

“No! Humans often think in pictures or mental models, and we struggle to express our feelings as words. That’s why just like us is a trap. Jellyfish have no eyes, ears, or brains. Yet they know up and down, light and dark, smell and taste. And they hunt and kill prey. A neocortex isn’t a prerequisite for consciousness. There are many ways to think-feel. Beings don’t need to be sentient just like us.”

“What else, Jo?”

“Consciousness, like morality, is a mess we can’t make sense of. For instance, sharks don’t have nociceptors, the neurons we use to perceive pain. And they appear insensitive to stingray barbs, so folks say sharks aren’t conscious. But we don’t know for sure sharks can’t feel pain, and we do know there are conscious humans who can’t feel pain. So, for now, I assume sharks are sentient.”

“Me too! Are plants sentient?”

“I don’t know about plants. They see, hear, touch, taste, and smell. Plants talk. They help one another. And, most likely, plants are emotional. As Carl Safina explains, ‘plants make the same chemicals — such as serotonin, dopamine, and glutamate — that act as neurotransmitters and help create mood in animals, including humans.’ Inari, plants even respond to anesthesia and seem to lose consciousness. So they may be sentient too. At the very least, plants deserve the benefit of the doubt.”

“After we publish our book, Jo, you can write the sequel, Plants Are People.”

“Ha! Maybe I will.”

“Jo, you do know I’m only half-joking.”

“I do. Speaking of people, Kristin Andrews defines criteria for personhood brilliantly, including sentience, emotion, autonomy, self-awareness, sociality, language, rationality, narrative self-constitution, morality, and meaning-making. Kristin says, ‘personhood comes from having some of these traits, but no single one is required.’”

“It’s a beautiful argument!”

“Kristin says, ‘among persons, we find all humans and many different species of animals,’ and personhood is ‘sufficient for moral standing, but not necessary.’ While human is a biological term, person is a normative term meaning ‘those who have feelings, work toward achieving goals, enjoy good and bad relationships, make plans, and think about what to do next.’ I just love her. I sure wish I’d read The Animal Mindbefore that big fight with my dad.”

“Copy that! So, is Kristin Andrews defending animals as legal, moral, or metaphysical persons?”

“All of the above! She uses scientific evidence to show that animals are people metaphysically. Her argument is impervious to Hume’s is-ought guillotine. There is no ought. It’s science, not ethics. So it is what it is! On that basis, Kristen says that animals must be granted moral and legal standing. It’s obvious! I adore the way she makes her case. Kristen Andrews is as persuasive as a puppy dog’s eyes.”

“Jo, isn’t must simply another word for ought?”

“Huh? Oh! I suppose you’re right; that is, if you’re willing to guillotine a puppy dog.”

“Touché. One more question, Jo. Is a robot a person?”

“Nope. Although dementia patients often believe their therapeutic robots are alive. It’s a confusing time. AIs can pass the Turing Test. Fear of existential risk from artificial general intelligence is on the rise. But folks miss key distinctions. As John Searle’s Chinese room argument shows, imitation isn’t evidence of understanding. The recognition and prediction of patterns is only part of what it means to think. And intelligence is not sentience! Can we make a machine hope or feel? Not yet. Is transcription of the biochemistry and physiology of emotion into silicon possible? Can we cause consciousness to arise from bits? Nobody knows. For now, robots are the real zombies.”

“Brenda Laurel says, ‘The sense of Place foregrounds the fundamental, interwoven ingredients of Consciousness — sensation and perception, emotion, memory, meaning-making, identity, dreaming, and spirituality.’ Will the world ever see an indigenous robot who knows how it feels to be home? I wonder. Let’s take a break, Jo, see you in ten.”

Ghost and I head outside to move the goats. As we cross the lawn, we’re surrounded by dozens of bees. The first time, I was scared I’d be swarmed, but it turns out they are miner bees, solitary ground-nesters, not aggressive at all. I open the gate, and the goats follow us from the paddock to the forest. Ginsberg attempts to headbutt Ghost, but she dances out of reach. Once the goats are settled, I free the hens. I’ll wet them down later. It’s going to be another long, hot night. But for now, my beautiful girls are happy to be in the cool, green forest, scratching for bugs and grit.

Back in class, I scratch an itch. “Inari, does Arthur Schopenhauer really cheer you up? That’s what you said last week. So I checked out one of his books, Studies in Pessimism, from the library. And it’s absolutely horrible.”

“I’m sorry for inflicting him upon you. I turned to his work a few weeks ago, when I was feeling low. Nobody validates suffering like Arthur Schopenhauer. But you’re right, Jo. He was a miserable know-nothing wretch. His eminence and influence are an indictment of the Western canon.”

“He says, ‘If the brute is free from care, it is also, in this sense, without hope; in either case because its consciousness is limited to the present moment, to what it can actually see before it,’ and ‘Women are directly fitted for acting as the nurses and teachers of our early childhood by the fact that they are themselves childish, frivolous and short-sighted; in a word, they are big children all their life long.’ Obviously he knows nothing of animals or women.”

“Jo, on a happier note, I love your idea for an animal sanctuary, and I have two suggestions. First, I want you to consider animal-assisted therapy. You could use horses, pigs, dogs, or llamas to help folks who suffer from PTSD, autism, anxiety, or depression. Jo, how does that sound?”

“Well, Inari, that just dills my pickle. Seriously, I love your idea. I’ve read about animal-assisted therapy, and it fits with our mission of ‘more happiness and less suffering for all sentient beings, including humans.’ We could say ‘we save the animals, then the animals save us.’ What else?”

“No more theft, Jo. I’m dead serious. Don’t think that I didn’t catch your mention of alpacas last week. I have ALS, not dementia. You must find the courage to confront abusers directly. Tell them you want to adopt the animal into your sanctuary. If they resist, call animal control. Pay to rescue, if you must. But do not steal. It’s unethical, and it’s dangerous. Please, Jo, consider this my dying wish.”“Jesus H. Christ. You’ve been reading too much Schopenhauer! I wanted to confess to you about the alpacas earlier. But you got sick. And I couldn’t find the right time. Inari, I won’t make a false promise. My dreams are too vivid. Once I feel their pain, I can’t ignore it. Last night, I was an elephant in a drought. And it was feckin’ awful. Not that I can stop climate change. Anyways, I do hear you, and you’re not wrong — unlawful liberation is the last resort. But why play make-believe? I’m a kid. The sanctuary is just a dream. I have no way to make it real.”

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