Animals Are People

A chapter from Animals Are People by Peter Morville

Chapter 8

I awaken to the exuberant crowing of our roosters. Spike’s cock-a-doodle-doo makes me smile. He starts strong but runs out of breath and mangles the doo. I luxuriate in the warmth and mass of Ghost against my thighs. I love her so much, it aches. In the room, rays of sunlight dance with cosmic dust floating on air. The sky beyond my window is fairytale blue. It’s promising to be a beautiful all good day.

Then I recall the nightmare. I’m in the closet. The door’s ajar. I’m hurt. Blood soaks my inner thigh and pools on the hardwood floor where I sit cross-legged. I snag a blouse off a hanger to staunch the flow. The empty metal hanger ticks back and forth. I hear the click of heels. The closet door swings wide open. The woman screams. I’m petrified. I can’t move. I can’t speak. And then I wake.

I’m such an idiot. I was almost caught. What if she had a gun? At least Bodhi is safe. He sat on my lap all the way to Fox Holler. Now he’s in a big crate in the barn. He needs to be confined for two weeks, so he learns the barn is home. I hate caging him. But it’s the only way. I told Mom that I cut my arm on a fence. I showered and put on antibiotic. And I am vaccinated for tetanus. I suppose I could die of cat scratch fever. But that’s unlikely.

Still, my days as a cat burglar are done. It’s not just about me. Just imagine how sad and ashamed Mom and Dad would be, if I went to prison. And who would look after all my animals? Ghost needs me. They all do. I hope the visions stop. I don’t know if I can ignore a suffering animal. But I may have to. There must be better ways that I can help animals besides liberation. I should ask Inari.

I grab a sesame bagel with hummus for breakfast, rush through morning chores, and hop back into bed with my big orange travel mug, just in time for class. Mom gave me a Yeti Rambler, so I’d stop spilling coffee on my way up the stairs. Most days, I can’t afford to waste caffeine. But today, we’re arguing with René Descartes. I expect that the adrenaline rage will keep me wide awake.

“Jo, let’s begin with a bio. René Descartes was a French mathematician, scientist, and philosopher. Known as the father of analytic geometry, the father of modern philosophy, and a key figure in the scientific revolution, he’s among the most important and influential thinkers of modernity. Even today, people all around the world are beneficiaries of his brilliant ideas. Jo, your thoughts?”

“I hate Descartes! He’s an evil, despicable monster. And I detest your hagiography, Inari. But you knew that, right?”

“You got me, Jo. Nobody makes my blood boil more than Descartes. But that’s why it’s vital to understand him and his impact. In the words of Sun Tzu, ‘know thy enemy, know thy self.’ Let’s begin with his most famous insight. I’ll read the whole passage from Discourse on the Method.”

Accordingly, seeing that our senses sometimes deceive us, I was willing to suppose that there existed nothing really such as they presented to us; and because some men err in reasoning, and fall into paralogisms, even on the simplest matters of geometry, I, convinced that I was as open to error as any other, rejected as false all the reasonings I had hitherto taken for demonstrations; and finally, when I considered that the very same thoughts which we experience when awake may also be experienced when we are asleep, while there is at that time not one of them true, I supposed that all the objects that had ever entered into my mind when awake, had in them no more truth than the illusions of my dreams. But immediately upon this I observed that, whilst I thus wished to think that all was false, it was absolutely necessary that I, who thus thought, should be somewhat; and as I observed that this truth, I think, therefore I am, was so certain and of such evidence that no ground of doubt, however extravagant, could be alleged by the skeptics capable of shaking it, I concluded that I might, without scruple, accept it as the first principle of the philosophy of which I was in search.

“Okay, Jo, what do you think?”

“Descartes starts out a skeptic. Unable to trust my senses or dreams, I know nothing. Then he makes a leap of faith. ‘I think, therefore I am.’ Descartes places total confidence in rationality. He says, ‘we ought never to allow ourselves to be persuaded of the truth of anything unless on the evidence of our reason.’ Then he leaps again. 

I thence concluded that I was a substance whose whole essence or nature consists only in thinking, and which, that it may exist, has need of no place, nor is dependent on any material thing; so that I, that is to say, the mind by which I am what I am, is wholly distinct from the body, and is even more easily known than the latter, and is such, that although the latter were not, it would still continue to be all that it is.

“Inari, he declares this mind which thinks is an immortal soul. Zero evidence. Pure conjecture. Total bullshit.”

“The evisceration has begun. Nice work, Jo. Ironically, Descartes’ passion for philosophy was sparked by three dreams in 1619 in which God tasked him with the unification of religion, philosophy, and science. So the foundation of Western civilization is divine revelation. It’s weird, right? But let’s go further down the rabbit hole. How about animals? Do they have a soul?”

“No. Descartes claims that animals are automata, machines without minds or souls. He argues that since no animal can use words or signs to communicate, no animal can think. And if they do talk or cry or exhibit complex behaviors or act in similar ways to humans, it’s just instinct. Inari, it’s so hard to read. That rat bastard is mean as a mama wasp, and he’s crooked as a barrel of fishhooks!

“Ain’t that the truth! In Descartes’ view, there is no moral difference between a puppy and a clock. Now, you and I know he’s wrong. To use your word, Jo, it’s obvious. We understand that a puppy and a human baby experience pain in similar ways. We can see, hear, and feel their pain. And the weight of scientific evidence is on our side. People are animals. All beings are the result of evolution by natural selection. Our bodies, brains, and behaviors exist in continuity with other species. All sorts of animals use tools, language, and culture. They have goals and plans. And they sure as hell don’t want to be hurt, enslaved, or imprisoned. So here’s my question, Jo. Descartes was not an idiot. He was a brilliant mathematician. So, how on earth did the man end up so wrong about animals?”

“I smell a trick question. You said a while back that culture helps us believe what we want. Descartes was a Catholic. He was told that God gave us Dominion. And Descartes experimented on live animals. He cut open rabbits and dogs while they were alive. Descartes was a monster. But, if animals are clocks, then no worries. Do as you wish with no guilt or shame. Descartes made a deal with the devil.”

“That’s right, Jo. Descartes admits as much in a letter to Henry More. He writes ‘my view is not so much cruel to beasts but respectful to human beings, whom it absolves from any suspicion of crime whenever they kill or eat animals.’ That’s why the man was canonized. René Descartes offered humans a license to treat animals with impunity. And we took the deal. The framing of animals as objects rather than subjects was enshrined in culture, governance, and law. Vivisection, animal testing, and the abomination of factory farms are the result. Never entrust morality to a mathematician! That’s my rule of thumb. Math seduces minds into believing in absolute truths — that the answers are either right or wrong. Yet morality is nonbinary. Jo, good and evil are spectral and subjective.”

“No. Vivisection is evil. That’s an objective truth.”

“Jo, most vaccines and medicines wouldn’t exist without animal testing. We’re talking billions of humans saved from sickness and early death. Jo, are you saying you wouldn’t sacrifice even a single mouse to save your mum?”

“Of course not! But tens of millions of animals — cats, cows, dogs, monkeys, horses, pigs — are used and abused in experiments every year. Inari, what about cosmetics? Humans torture rabbits for lipstick and eyeliner!”

“Morality is messy. That’s my point, Jo. Gandhi argued there is ‘the same inviolable connection between the means and the end as there is between the seed and the tree.’ Jo, even my question about your mum is tricky. Is it ever okay to kill a sentient being? There’s no easy answer.”

“But animals aren’t machines. Animals think and feel, just like us. And Descartes knew it. The man was a liar.”

“I agree, though it’s hard to say exactly what Descartes believed. In a letter to the Marquess of Newcastle, he says, ‘I cannot share the opinion of Montaigne and others who attribute understanding or thought to animals,’ and ‘If you teach a magpie to say good-day to its mistress, when it sees her approach, this can only be by making the utterance of this word the expression of one of its passions. For instance it will be an expression of the hope of eating, if it has always been given a tidbit when it says it. Similarly, all the things which dogs, horses, and monkeys are taught to perform are only expressions of their fear, their hope, or their joy; and consequently they can be performed without any thought.’ How does that suit you, Jo?”

“Inari, it fits like socks on a rooster. Seriously, it makes no sense at all. He says animals talk and feel but don’t think; and they learn without a mind. It’s utter rubbish. Descartes is nearly as confused as he is dangerous!”

“It gets even better, Jo. Descartes calls the human body ‘a machine made by the hands of God’ in which the pineal gland is ‘the principal seat of the soul.’ And here’s a gem of his from Meditations.”

Nature also teaches me, by these sensations of pain, hunger, thirst and so on, that I am not merely present in my body as a sailor is present in a ship, but that I am very closely joined and, as it were, intermingled with it, so that I and the body form a unit. If this were not so, I, who am nothing but a thinking thing, would not feel pain when the body was hurt, but would perceive the damage purely by the intellect, just as a sailor perceives by sight if anything in his ship is broken. Similarly, when the body needed food or drink, I should have an explicit understanding of the fact, instead of having confused sensations of hunger and thirst. These sensations are confused mental events that arise from the union – the intermingling, as it were – of the mind with the body.

“So, you’re right, Jo. Descartes is indeed confused. He denies his senses in favor of mind-body dualism. And he suggests that the mind or soul is a substance that’s immortal and unique to humans.”

“Inari, it’s so freakin’ odd that people believed him.”

“Descartes is a beneficiary of authority bias and the halo effect. He’s brilliant at math, so we trust him on morality. It’s a common error. Personally, I see René as a broken man. He was a weak and sickly child. His mum died when he was only a year old. His father sent him away, first to live with grandma, then to Jesuit boarding school. René’s only intimacy was with his servant. They had a daughter who died at five. No wonder he escaped into rationalism. No wonder he needed belief in an immortal soul. Speaking of which, what do you think of Gilbert Ryle’s critique?”

“Gilbert Ryle uncovers the absurdity of mind-body dualism. So I’m a fan. In Descartes’ Myth, he says the dogma of the Ghost in the Machine is a category error. It’s like a visitor to Oxford is shown the colleges, libraries, fields, and buildings. Then the visitor asks, but where is the University? Ryle says the mind or soul isn’t a substance. It’s a category. It doesn’t exist in the same way as the body.”

“Right, Jo, though it’s worth noting we have yet to solve the hard problems of consciousness — why and how do sentient beings have subjective experiences — and what, where, and when is the ‘I’ who thinks and feels? We’ll revisit this topic later, but for now let’s explore what your mum might call the information architecture of modernity. To start, tell me about Descartes’ rationalism.”

“As best I can tell, Inari, the rationalists only trust knowledge that comes from reason and logic. In contrast to the empiricists, who only trust knowledge that’s gained through experience and experiments.”

“Yet another false binary, Jo. And no role for emotion. No place for wisdom. But the Age of Enlightenment must be good, right? It must be a step up from the Middle Ages and Dark Ages. Of course, all these Ages are categories we invented for purposes of persuasion. Then we have humanism. The moral compass pivots from God to Man. But, Jo, what about animals and nature?”

“I hate the word humane. It brands humans as benevolent.”

“Yes. Jo, it’s like your word monster which omits bad persons and behaviors from the category of human, so that we can all feel good about ourselves. Words are spells. Consider people and animals. The nouns tee up the pronouns — us and them. We are all refugees in the Age of False Dichotomy. Our separation is abetted by language and classification. Pay attention to words and categories.”

Class ends, and I’m on my way to Fox Holler. It’s sunny and warm enough for shorts. Not too shabby for December. I’m thinking about class. Inari has a point. Monsters are us. Bodhi’s owners must think I’m a monster for stealing their cat. I do feel bad, especially for the little girl. Gandhi says the ends can’t justify the means. But Nelson Mandela disagrees. I read his autobiography. After decades of nonviolent resistance by the African National Congress failed to stop apartheid, Mandela led the ANC’s military wing, the Spear of the Nation. He used violence to achieve peace. The United States classified Mandela as a terrorist.

It’s the same with ALF. We break laws to save souls. So why is there an abyss in the pit of my stomach? To be a sentient moral being is a prison. I feel guilt, therefore I am.

I ditch my bike and start work. First, I clean the stalls. I use a pitchfork to remove manure and wet bedding. Next, I groom the horses. Brushing is the best part. They love all the attention. And I do too. It’s our time to chill together.

I save Nora, the gorgeous chestnut mare, for last. As I run the soft finishing brush over her powerful body, the horse and I are not just close. We are bonded. I becomes We. Our sounds and scents and spirits mingle. We are together. We are one. Nothing exists beyond the rhythm of the brush.

I’m jolted from revery by a hand on my back. It’s Gage.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle ya, Jo. Looks like yer done. How ‘bout I teach ya to shoot? Last time yer aim was wild.”

Gage has a hunting rifle in one hand and two Budweisers in the other. He chucks me a beer as we head round back. We use beer cans and bottles as targets. Gage goes first. Two cans and a bottle, three for three. My turn. I aim for a bottle. I want the satisfaction of shattering glass. I miss the mark. Gage comes up from behind, puts his hands on mine, adjusts the rifle. He smells of beer, cigarettes, and sweat. Gage’s stubble tickles my cheek. Then I feel his hand on my breast, and he presses up hard against me. For a moment, I freeze. Then I wrench my body from his arms.

“What the fuck, Gage? Get the hell off me! I’m seventeen. You’re old and married and disgusting. This is not okay!”

“Sorry, Jo. My hand slipped. It was an accident. Now be a good girl, and put the gun down, afore someone gets hurt.”

“Fuck you it was an accident. I’ll tell Tilly what you did.”

“Hey, darlin’, think twice, we both have secrets.”

I plant my feet, raise the rifle, align the sight with the target, and take a deep breath. “Don’t touch me, don’t gaslight me, and do not ever fucking threaten me again, or I’ll blow your goddamn balls off. Am I clear?”

“Yeah, Jo. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Jesus!”

I place the gun on the ground, walk to my bike, and ride home. Ghost greets me at the door, and we retreat to my room. I’m still shaking. I’m so disgusted with Gage for being a creep. And I hate that I made myself so vulnerable.

Gage knows about Ghost. But he can’t tell anyone. If he does, I’ll expose him as a pedophile. I wish I could quit my job. But I still need a place for Bodhi. The sparkling and shimmering of a migraine aura warns of what’s to come. I lay down, snuggle up to Ghost, and close my eyes.

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A chapter from Animals Are People by Peter Morville