In Search of Consistency: Ethics And Animals (Human-Animal Studies)

In Search of Consistency: Ethics and Animals

Human–Animal Studies Editor

Kenneth Shapiro Animals and Society Institute Editorial Board

Ralph Acampora, Hofstra University Clifford Flynn, University of South Carolina Hilda Kean, Ruskin College, Oxford Randy Malamud, Georgia State University Gail Melson, Purdue University Kenneth Shapiro, Co-Executive Director Animals & Society Institute Editor, Society and Animals Coeditor, Journal of Applied Animal Welfare Science 403 McCauley Street Washington Grove MD 20880 t/f 301-963-4751 www.animalsandsociety.org

VOLUME 3

In Search of Consistency: Ethics and Animals by

Lisa Kemmerer

BRILL LEIDEN • BOSTON 2006

Photos on the cover: As in a Mirror (oil on canvas) and Clamshell Ethics (crayon). Both are originals and made by the author. This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kemmerer, Lisa. In search of consistency : ethics and animals / by Lisa Kemmerer. p. cm. — (Human-animal studies, ISSN 1573-4226 ; v. 3) Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index. ISBN-13: 978-90-04-14725-6 ISBN-10: 90-04-14725-X (pbk.: alk. paper) 1. Animal welfare. 2. Animal rights. 3. Ethics. I. Title. II. Series. HV4708.K44 2006 179’.3—dc22

2006047543

ISSN 1573-4226 ISBN-13: 978 90 04 14725 6 ISBN-10: 90 04 14725 X © Copyright 2006 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill Academic Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

Dedicated to/In loving memory of the many other members of my family, past and present: Snoopy, Saudi, Peanuts, Fez, Pester, Molly, Crabapple, Annie; Hippi, Tidbit, Colorful; Star and two whose names I cannot remember; Rylie, Pal, Kim, Hans, Randy, Zack, Zeebee, Panda, Orphie, Nachie, Brownie, Lucy, Jojo, Angie, Wags, Suzie; Matilda, Tuck-Tuck, Baby Fondles, and those that did not live to adulthood; Biddy, Fotinia, Dalila, and dozens of others; Suzie, Ms. Duckie, and many others; Troubles, Stubby, Commander, Shale, Samantha, Tweezer, Mama Schnook, Kao, Muffin, Gryder, Snerf, Schnickelfritz, BeBee (Problem), Sandi, Skunky, Silver Tabby, Boss Charlie, Underfoot, Sam, Blacky, Pill, Missy, Mustache, Melissa, Sascha, Mosta, Spud, Smokey, Satin, Fluff, Stuffy, Graykin, Jex, Ringer, Boo-witch, Lady Jane Gray, Longjohn, Elf, Popeye, Twitch, Fat Orange, Butterscotch (Buttercrotch on off days), Cinders (Cinderella), Skittle, Saphire, BoBlack, Flag, TummyMummy, Bob, Crosspatch, Simey, Mr. Max, Tom Thumb, Stripe, Mini, Heba, Sheba, Miss Flea, Chocolate, Mabel, Boffer, MyDogSpot, MyDogSpot’s Sister Mariezlie (Mizo, Meazlie), Chibi-chan, Friskie, Strip, Strip’s tiny sister who did not live long, Baby Orange, Nabor, Satin, Rabbit, Maggie, Gank, Martha/Grouse, Ebony, Squid Kid, Nosey, Mackie, Mutt, Jeffrey, Paddy, Calli, Sid, Barney, Tipper, Quatro, Mama, Peabody, Cream Puff (CreamyMeamy), Priscilla (Pisscilla in moments of bad behavior), and others whose names are temporarily forgotten.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements ...................................................................... Preface ........................................................................................ Introduction ................................................................................

xiii xv 1

PART ONE

METHODS AND TERMS Chapter one T1. Protectionism ...................................................................... M1. Selection of scholars .......................................................... T2. Anymals, Nonhuman Animals, Other-Than-Human Animals .................................................................................... M2. Applied philosophy ............................................................ T3. Moral standing .................................................................... T4. Morally relevant distinctions .............................................. T5. Inherent value/intrinsic worth .......................................... M3. Lifeboat scenarios .............................................................. M4. Idealism .............................................................................. M5. Consistency and logical extremes .................................... T6. Intuition .............................................................................. T7. Speciesism ............................................................................ M6. Impartiality ........................................................................ M7. Casuistry ............................................................................ T8. Living entity ........................................................................ T9. Western morality/ethics .................................................... M8. Interdisciplinary .................................................................. Final Note ..................................................................................

7 9 10 12 16 18 22 24 27 32 37 38 40 47 49 50 52 56

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PHILOSOPHICAL PROTECTIONIST THEORIES Chapter two Tom Regan: The Rights View ................................................ 59 A. Regan’s Rights View 1. Equal inherent value ........................................................ 60 2. Welfare .............................................................................. 61 3. Moral standing ................................................................ 64 4. Respect Principle .............................................................. 65 5. Harm Principle ................................................................ 66 6. Overriding rights .............................................................. 66 Summary .............................................................................. 68 B. Discussion .............................................................................. 68 1. Methods ............................................................................ 68 2. Central concepts .............................................................. 70 3. Undesirable consequences ................................................ 94 Conclusion ............................................................................ 101 Chapter three Peter Singer: Utilitarian Protectionism .................................... A. Singer’s Utilitarian Theory .................................................. 1. Utilitarianism .................................................................... 2. Sentience .......................................................................... 3. Mental capacity ................................................................ 4. Death and killing ............................................................ Summary .............................................................................. B. Discussion .............................................................................. 1. Common concerns .......................................................... 2. Problems associated with utilitarianism .......................... 3. Sentience .......................................................................... 4. Mental capacity ................................................................ 5. Reason without virtues .................................................... 6. Speciesism ........................................................................ Conclusion ............................................................................

103 103 103 105 109 110 112 112 112 113 128 130 142 143 144

contents Chapter four Paul Taylor: Bio-Protectionism ................................................ A. Protectionism and Environmental Ethics: An Uneasy Alliance .................................................................................. B. Taylor’s Foundation .............................................................. 1. Individual versus species .................................................. 2. Natural and nonnatural .................................................. 3. Moral standing ................................................................ 4. Moral agents and moral patients .................................. 5. Rights ................................................................................ 6. Philosophical principles and standards .......................... C. Taylor’s Respect for Nature ................................................ 1. Belief system—Biocentric Outlook .................................. 2. Attitude—Respect for Nature ........................................ 3. Four rules and moral triage ............................................ 4. Five principles .................................................................. Summary .............................................................................. D. Discussion .............................................................................. 1. Controversial assumptions .............................................. 2. Theoretical considerations .............................................. 3. Humanocentrism .............................................................. Conclusion ............................................................................

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145 145 150 150 150 151 154 155 158 158 159 161 162 165 169 170 170 177 190 210

PART THREE

PROTECTIONIST THEOLOGY Chapter five Andrew Linzey: Christian Protectionism .................................. A. Theology ................................................................................ B. Christianity and Protectionism Across Time ...................... C. Linzey’s Protectionist Theology .......................................... 1. Creation ............................................................................ 2. Covenant .......................................................................... 3. Challenges ........................................................................ 4. Life of Jesus ...................................................................... 5. Linzey’s Generosity Paradigm ........................................ Summary ..............................................................................

213 214 217 228 229 235 236 243 245 250

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D. Discussion .............................................................................. 1. General issues .................................................................. 2. Interpretation of scripture .............................................. 3. Theoretical considerations .............................................. Conclusion ............................................................................

251 251 255 270 281

Chapter six Consistency across Religious Traditions .................................. 1. Indigenous traditions ........................................................ 2. Vedic/Hindu tradition .................................................... 3. Buddhism .......................................................................... 4. Daoism and Other Chinese Religions .......................... 5. Islam .................................................................................. Summary ..............................................................................

283 288 302 321 333 347 359

PART FOUR

CONSISTENCY AND IMPARTIALITY IN APPLIED PROTECTIONIST PHILOSOPHY Chapter seven Six Medical Cases: The Value of Innocent Human Life ...... 1. Six medical cases ............................................................ 2. Comparative value of human life .................................. 3. Western ethics and the value of human life in practice .............................................................................. Chapter eight Minimize Harm Maxim ............................................................ 1. Premise One: All Living Entities Have Moral Standing ............................................................................ 2. Premise Two: Death and Harm Are Part of Life .......... 3. Premise Three: Hierarchies of Moral Standing Are Indefensible ...................................................................... Maxim: Minimize Harm .......................................................... 1. Subpoint One: Minimize Interference ................................ 2. Subpoint Two: We May Use Other Life-forms Only with Consent .................................................................... 3. Subpoint Three: Intentions Matter .................................... 4. Subpoint Four: Self-Defense Is Morally Permissible ........

363 365 374 385

391 391 407 408 418 419 435 437 440

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5. Extending Ethics Regarding Protection of Human Life: A Parallel Theory .................................................... 443 Summary .............................................................................. 445 Chapter nine Application: Contemporary Moral Dilemmas .......................... A. Ongoing protectionist issues ................................................ 1. Zoos and circuses ............................................................ 2. Clothing ............................................................................ 3. Diet .................................................................................... 4. Science .............................................................................. 5. Anymal companions ........................................................ B. Hypothetical scenarios .......................................................... 1. Organs versus organisms/Species versus individuals .... 2. Adrift on a lifeboat .......................................................... Conclusion ............................................................................

447 447 447 455 458 468 474 477 477 479 489

Chapter ten Review and Future Directions .................................................. A. Overview ................................................................................ 1. A conspicuous problem .................................................. 2. A cooperative enterprise .................................................. 3. The Minimize Harm Maxim .......................................... B. Philosophical standards and the Minimize Harm Maxim 1. Ethical theories ................................................................ 2. Examining the Minimize Harm Maxim ........................ 3. Comparison ...................................................................... C. Reexamining Predominant Western Ethics ........................ 1. Reconsidering the value of human life .......................... 2. Continuing the trend—moving ethics outward ............ 3. Human limitations ............................................................ 4. An ongoing endeavor ......................................................

491 491 491 493 494 495 495 497 497 499 500 502 503 504

Bibliography ................................................................................ 509 Index .......................................................................................... 531

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I thank those who came before me in the field of ethics and animals, including Tom Regan, Peter Singer, Andrew Linzey, and Paul Taylor. I am very grateful to each of these scholars for providing thoughtful comments on my presentation of their work. This process was particularly important because I have been determined to present their work in a manner acceptable to them, though there can be no guarantee that I have actually managed this. I am especially thankful to Tom Regan, who helped an unknown student with her doctoral dissertation—even flew to Scotland for the defense of that dissertation— which has now become this very book. Special thanks to Susan Stuart (and her partner, Norm Grey) for making a foreign student welcome in Scotland, and in their home, for discussions on topics such as conatus, the unacceptability of violence in defending the innocent, the perfection of potatoes, and the importance of cats—including the beloved Mr. Finn, the esteemed feline fond of hunting worms. I am thankful to the Culture and Animals Foundation for financial support. Many thanks to Kenneth Shapiro for his help in getting this book into print. Thank you to Brill for putting together a series that focuses on animals and society, and to reviewers, especially Paul Waldau, whose many helpful comments greatly improved the manuscript. Thank you to Steven Wells, who proofread the earlier dissertation, as well as key chapters of this book, and to Alex (Myshkin) Bury. I thank others who offered comments on portions of the manuscript or key concepts, including Robin Downie, John Halley, Fred Porta, Samantha Joo, Kim Woeste, Ed Sandeman, Walter Gulick, Joel Lidz, Matthew Calarco, Brian Dillon, Dagmar Wilhelm, Jennifer Tobin, Walter Kemmerer, Ed Kemmerer, and to editors Lillia Gajewski and Linda Hoffman. I thank Mum (Ruthli) for always having confidence in me. I thank Dad (Walter) for his respect for all living things. I thank my brother, Ed, for his intense interest in ideas and willingness to dialogue on subjects (like the moral acceptability of spraying insecticide on a hoard of aphids swarming one’s prize pansies). I thank my sister, Jan, for her huge heart, for her unusual perspectives on animals and people, and

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for sharing her home with me—not just her home, but eight beautiful acres filled with rescued animals that became the core meaning of our shared daily life as I wrote this text. I thank my family for being a family: for offering camaraderie, encouragement, food for thought, long walks outdoors, and plenty of distraction from my labors. I thank the many critters in my life for their companionship, and for the labor they require, both of which have kept me healthy and happy. I especially thank nonhuman animals past and present that have helped me to realize truths I otherwise might not have understood, particularly those who fixed their hearts upon me as only a nonhuman can, especially Troubles, Snoopy, Saudi, Bebee, Popeye, and Angie.

PREFACE

In Search of Consistency: Ethics and Animals examines the discrepancy in applied ethics between treatment of human life and treatment of all other life-forms. In the process, this book offers both explanations and critical analyses of basic moral theories, including utilitarianism and deontological (rights-based) ethics. In Search of Consistency also offers an in-depth view of moral theory in different areas, such as environmental ethics and theology. Western philosophies are remarkably inconsistent in applying morality exclusively to the lives of human beings rather than to the lives of all living entities. This book explores that often-overlooked discrepancy via the works of four contemporary philosophers from four different schools of thought; all four are well known for their novel contributions in this potentially divisive area of ethics. Four chapters are dedicated to the work of these scholars. Each chapter presents and discusses the proposition by one of these scholars to adjust ethical theory to include nonhuman animals. Tom Regan proposes a theory in support of animal rights. Peter Singer offers a utilitarian theory designed to maximize the satisfaction of preferences, aiming for an outcome that maximizes the preferences of individuals affected. Paul Taylor defends a theory of environmental ethics designed to protect wild organisms, based on the inherent worth of teleological entities. Andrew Linzey, the final scholar discussed (and a theologian), outlines an ethic of obligatory servitude to God’s creation, including nonhuman animals, rooted in the Hebrew Scriptures and New Testament. The sixth chapter explores protectionist ethics from a range of spiritual sources, revealing similarities between Linzey’s work and ideas from other religious traditions. This chapter investigates “animalfriendly” teachings with protectionist tendencies from indigenous, Hindu, Buddhist, Daoist, and Islamic religious traditions throughout history. Chapter 6 does not explore writings that contradict protectionist theology, but rather reveals the strong presence of protectionism in major religious traditions. Informed by the strengths and weaknesses of the four theories discussed in chapters 1–4, chapter 7 explores the consistent and

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impartial application of contemporary Western morality through the Minimize Harm Maxim. The Minimize Harm Maxim emerges from the consistent application of Western moral respect for human life, a respect for life that we now reserve almost exclusively for human beings, in a consistent fashion that includes all life-forms that are similar in morally relevant ways. The result is a significantly expanded ethic, complete with a new array of moral dilemmas. The final chapter returns to the ethical dilemma around which the book centers—the glaring discrepancy in applied ethics with regard to our treatment of human life as opposed to our treatment of all other life-forms. In Search of Consistency exposes the ongoing necessity for philosophical work in the field of ethics with regard to the treatment of living beings and the urgent need for an ethic that is less partial and more consistent for both humans and nonhumans.

INTRODUCTION

Is moral concern something owed by human beings only to human beings? Certainly two thousand five hundred years of moral philosophy have tended to suggest that this is the case, surprisingly enough, not by systematic argument, but simply by taking it for granted. Yet this answer is by no means obvious, and it crumbles when exposed to the most childlike question of all, “Why.” (Rollin 4)

Morality requires that our sentiments be balanced with relevant facts and reason. Philosophy is a “human product”; each individual philosophizes with more than just reason—we use our will, feelings, “flesh and blood,” our “whole soul and . . . whole body” (Stern 6). We might wish moral philosophy to be a clean and neat process, predictable and dependable, with absolute answers to complex moral dilemmas, but nothing could be farther from the truth. This is not to say that people do not have answers. Answers are provided by almost anyone confronted with delicate questions about complicated moral matters. From abortion and addiction to capital punishment and war, people often believe they know what is right for themselves and for those around them. However, neither personal preference nor majority opinion makes a sound moral decision, though these definitely can and do determine a dominant (popular or common) morality. In fact, the definition of morals conflicts with the idea that what the majority approves is “right” and what the majority disapproves is “wrong.” While we are all familiar with the dominant morality of our time and place, the majority is much less aware of whether or not their common moral opinions are rooted in reason and empirical evidence. Collectively, we participate in an outrageous moral inconsistency. We accept without question the discrepancy between our moral regard for human beings and our lack of moral regard for all other living entities. When returning by car from my parent’s home last week, I came upon a medic unit and a police car. A man was sitting on the bumper of one of the medic cars, with skinned knees. Two medics were attending him. He had gone around a corner too fast and had tipped his motorcycle in the street. I drove on, and within half an hour I watched a truck slam into the hind end of a doe. She was

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bounding, and as if in slow motion she flew from the front of the truck, spun in the air, and landed in a crumpled heap in the ditch. The truck kept going. The three cars behind the truck kept going. I was the fourth car behind the truck. I watched her try to stand up, her hind end destroyed. There were no medics, no police, not even a pause in the rushing of cars, though she was in shock and terribly wounded. How could a young man with skinned knees receive so much attention, while a doe who had been hit by a truck received no more than the passing glance as the people who had run over her rushed on their way? How many deer were hit that same night; how many of them died slowly in ditches? And what of snakes, opossums, robins, raccoons, swallows, salamanders, and domestic cats and dogs? Can such a morality, where only human life is held to be worthy of preservation and protection, possibly be defensible? Part I of this book explores moral alternatives to this ongoing discrepancy through the eyes of three contemporary philosophers from three different schools of thought. Tom Regan presents a deontological rights-based theory. Peter Singer offers a utilitarian theory designed to satisfy the maximum number of preferences and enhance preferred outcomes or consequences. The third scholar, Paul Taylor, defends a theory of environmental ethics designed to protect wild organisms, based on the inherent worth of teleological entities. Part II begins by discussing the work of Andrew Linzey, a theologian. Chapter 4 presents and critiques Linzey’s theory of Christian obligation of servitude to God’s creation (including cactus wrens and channel cats) rooted in the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament. Including a chapter on theology in a philosophy book will seem strange to some, but theology is central to moral issues in general, and important to ethical theories regarding treatment of nonhuman animals for two reasons. First, understanding theology enhances our understanding of morality in general. Philosophy was for many years the handmaid and mouthpiece of the church; philosophers labored to prove the existence of God and to solve “the problem of evil” which troubled many Christian scholars. In that sense, Western morals cannot be separated from Christianity. Many of our moral standards, from attitudes about abortion to laws regarding gay marriage, have been formed by the dominant religious tradition—Christianity. Second, many Westerners are Christians. The United States in particular remains strongly Christian (as evidenced by church affiliation). While philosophical works rooted in scientific notions (evolution and

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ethology, utilitarianism and rights theories) might have no impact on conservative Christians, Linzey’s work will. Arguments are more effective when the person you are talking to can relate to what you are saying, and when what you are saying really matters to them personally. For a strong Christian, scripture is key. Linzey speaks to those of faith as Regan speaks to those who feel strongly about human rights. For this reason it is critical to include Linzey in this volume and to make use of religious—specifically Christian—language, as is done in chapter 5. The sixth chapter explores protectionist ethics across religious traditions, This segment of the book investigates “animal-friendly” lore from indigenous, Hindu, Buddhist, Daoist, and Islamic religious traditions, revealing protectionist tendencies across religious traditions from around the world. Part III explores the consistent and impartial application of contemporary Western morality through the Minimize Harm Maxim. The Minimize Harm Maxim consistently applies everyday, commonsense American respect for human life to cover all life-forms that are similar in morally relevant ways, resulting in a significantly expanded ethic, complete with a new array of moral dilemmas. Before discussing the abovementioned theories, it is necessary to prepare some general groundwork. Chapter 1 introduces terms that are important to the overall text and explains and justifies methods used in this text. These terms and methods are explained because they are immediately necessary to the content and intent of this book, or because they are not specific or central to any one of the four theories discussed. Terms such as “rights,” or “utilitarianism” will be discussed thoroughly in chapters specific to those concepts. Because reading terms and methods can be tedious, readers can gain the core of each term and method by reading the first sentence of each subsection and then move on to the next term or method. For more in-depth coverage of the topic, read the entire section.

PART ONE

METHODS AND TERMS

CHAPTER ONE

METHODS AND TERMS

Term 1. Protectionism What most people call “animal rights” is referred to as protectionism throughout this book. Tom Regan calls attention to the meaning of “lexical gap,” the absence of a word or expression to refer to an idea or object. He cites as an example the strings of fiber on the outer surface of a banana (Animal 80): we have no word for these “banana strings.” Similarly, there is no generally accepted term that includes all theories, let alone all outlooks, goals, and activists in the “animal rights” movement. “The expression ‘animal rights,’ while often used loosely as a synonym for animal liberation, if used correctly, has a more limited application. Not all liberationists agree that focusing on the concept of moral rights is useful, and some even deny that animals (or humans) possess moral rights” (A. Taylor, Animals 18). Moral “rights” are the subject of specific philosophical theories. Those who favor animal rights propose that nonhuman animals have moral rights that we ought to respect. Of the four scholars included in this book, Tom Regan proposes a specific philosophical theory defending the existence of moral rights for at least some nonhuman animals. Linzey discusses “theos-rights,” rights that he believes we owe not to animals but to the Creator. Linzey is not known as an “animal rights” philosopher, but as a theologian who focuses his moral theories on the divine—theos-rights are owed to God, not to created beings. The other scholars presented propose different types of theories including utilitarianism and environmental ethics. Because there are a wide variety of theories, only very few of which focus on rights theory, “animal rights” is not a suitable label for the many theories that extend ethics to include protection of nonhuman animals. Another commonly used term is “animal welfare.” This term usually encompasses theories that are concerned for animals, but which ultimately favor human beings. Traditionally, the animal-welfare

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movement “has sought to minimize the suffering of exploited animals but has not fundamentally challenged the view that animals are essentially resources” (A. Taylor, Animals 18–19). Although there are radical welfarists whose placement of humans vis-à-vis nonhuman animals is far from conventional, the term “animal welfare” designates a specific philosophical outlook that cannot be generalized to include all protectionist theories. In contrast, the animal-liberation movement rejects the idea that animals are resources. To fight for animal liberation is to hope to put “an end to the routine sacrifice of animal interests for human benefit, even where the sacrifice is executed humanely” (Sapontzis 77). For animal liberationists liberation of nonhuman animals is “analogous to the two great liberation movements of recent decades in the United States: that of blacks and women” (Finsen 181). Indeed, the “animal rights” movement is a liberation movement, but this term cannot fill the lexical gap for a handful of reasons: • This term may conjure up images of violence, yet not all who fight to protect the lives of animals accept violence; in fact, very few do. • This term is committed to other uses, e.g., “women’s liberation.” • Other liberation movements have their own specific titles. “Abolition” distinguishes those who fought for the abolition of slavery in the United States prior to the Civil War. The civil rights movement advocated racial equality in the United States. The menagerie of methods and intents with regard to liberating various nonhuman species should also have a term that is uniquely its own. Though for many it is a liberation movement in all respects, for others this is not the case, which leads to the next point. • “Animal liberation” does not include less radical people who are only struggling to free certain nonhuman animals from the most cruel forms of oppression. One such group is often referred to as animal welfarists; they seek to improve the welfare of animals, but not their complete emancipation. Neither “rights” nor “liberation” are appropriate terms for this form of participation in the effort to end the suffering of other species. • This term is sometimes understood to refer to a narrow, physical form of “liberation,” but the spectrum of ethical issues concerning nonhuman animals is much broader, including such topics as habitat destruction, hunting, and companion animals.

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• “Animal liberation” fails to acknowledge that we are all animals. Animal liberation would more accurately be called “nonhuman animal liberation.” • Finally, and most importantly, women and African Americans fought for their own liberation. Thus the term “liberation” fails to account for one of the most unique features of the animal liberation movement—those liberated are more helpless and uninvolved in the liberation process than the hopeful benefactors of any other liberation movement to date. For these reasons, “protectionist” is a preferable term. This term can be used to refer to theories, philosophies, or individuals striving to protect nonhuman life-forms, whether via animal rights, utilitarianism, theology, or environmental activism, whether as liberationists or as welfarists. “Protectionism” describes any ideology or behavior intended to protect nonhuman animals from human beings. Though the term “protectionism” has a place in economics, its use there is quite different and confusion is unlikely. Many activists labor to protect human beings, including the unborn, the aged, the enslaved, and children. “Protectionist” throughout this text refers to those who strive to protect and aid nonhuman beings for their own sakes—not for the sake of humanity. For instance, a protectionist does not preserve species for human enjoyment, but for the sake of the individual animals themselves, because this is what we ought to do with regard to these others. Similarly, a protectionist does not strive to protect habitat only for human pleasure, but for those creatures dependent on that environment. Method 1. Selection of Scholars The core of this text focuses on four scholars who have made groundbreaking, important contributions to protectionism. Each has presented a systematized school of thought (rights theory, utilitarianism, environmental philosophy, and theology). Other thinkers not covered in this book have contributed to the enlarging body of protectionist literature, including Bernard Rollin, Steve Sapontzis, James Rachels, Mary Midgely, Carol Adams, and Joan Dunayer. This book does not attempt a comprehensive survey of protectionist philosophy, but strives for depth in exploring four important thinkers; each has published

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at least one foundational book including a systematic theory of protectionism early in this contemporary movement. Singer’s book, Animal Liberation, was published in 1975; Regan’s book, The Case for Animal Rights, was published in 1984; and Taylor’s book, Respect for Nature, in 1986. Linzey’s book, Animal Theology, provides the first systematic theology of protectionism and was published in 1995. No previous author has provided a systematic, in-depth treatment of these four scholars in one book. Most writers have chosen either a more general survey of philosophical ideas regarding the animal rights movement (exemplified by books such as Finsen and Finsen’s The Animal Rights Movement in America: From Compassion to Respect) or have omitted theological theories and/or environmental theories. This text provides a detailed critique of the most influential theories to date regardless of the schools from which they derive, including religious and secular scholars, an environmental philosopher, a rights theorist, and a utilitarian. It entails breadth (without engaging in a general historical survey) and depth (without limiting the topic to one concept or scholar). Term 2. Anymals, Nonhuman Animals, Other-Than-Human Animals “Anymal,” pronounced “any-mal,” refers to animals excluding Homo sapiens. In philosophy, language must be as precise as possible. In the English language we have no word for “banana strings” or for the protectionist movement; similarly, we do not have a word that refers to all animals except human beings. This may reflect the human preference to view ourselves as separate from the other animals; we use “animal” in reference to “them,” removing “us” from their midst. In contrast to common usage, scientific definitions of “animal” include human beings. Because people are mammals, it is scientifically incorrect to use the term “animal” as if it referred only to other species, excluding human beings. Thus, the term “anymal” is not only a matter of philosophical orientation, but also a scientifically accurate use of language: people are animals, but given common usage, we need a term referring to animals that excludes humans. The term “anymal,” if abused, might permit people to finally remove themselves completely from the animal kingdom—verbally, as we have already done mentally and

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morally. But one may also hope that this term will remind us that we are animals and that we therefore need to use a special term when we speak of the animal world minus human beings. For protectionists, using the term “animal” might be acceptable in a world where the vast majority of citizens openly and regularly acknowledged human beings as one species among many, but this is not the case. Other terms such as “nonhuman animals” and “otherthan-human animals” are cumbersome, and also reinforce the idea that there exist two categories—human beings and everything else. We may be animals, these terms suggest, but we are a very different sort of animal; the “others,” however, may be lumped together, referred to as “not us” (nonhuman). Thus, “anymal” seems preferable. It also has the advantage of being similar to “animal,” with only one letter changed, and includes the word “any,” lending itself to representing “any animal” not the same species that we, the speakers and writers, happen to be. Morality can be understood as an extension of our sympathies from those we know well to those whom we know only partially (Telfer 75–76). It is likely that behind the facts and reasons that we use to justify moral protection for human life lie fundamental virtues— benevolence, compassion, empathy—which help to guide us through the process of moral inquiry. People generally prefer to be compassionate and sympathetic toward family and friends. By extension, social and legal ethics protect communities, nations, and (in some places) all people. For this reason, when considering our rightful ethical obligations to anymals, it is important to remember that we are primates and mammals, closely related to anymals. The importance of this term should not be overlooked. Referring to anymals as “animals” (as if we ourselves were not included) artificially distances people from Yorkshire hogs and chickens, meerkats and mink, and is therefore likely to impede our ability to assess proper moral obligations toward these beings. Words used to describe ourselves as if we were distinct from all other animals tend to facilitate separation, a separation that defies the biological connection we share with anymals. Using language correctly—acknowledging that we are included in the scientific definition of what it is to be an animal—reminds us of morally relevant similarities and can thereby help us in the process of determining our rightful moral relationship with the rest of the animal world.

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Finally, whereas “who” is generally reserved for reference only to human beings, I use this term in reference to anymals, acknowledging them as unique individuals, beings who have a life of their own, whatever that life entails. Method 2. Applied Philosophy This book falls into the category of applied philosophy by using reason to question the status quo, encouraging a different way of thinking, and encouraging a change in action. “Moral codes are action guides” (Pluhar 283). Sloan Coffin provides a noteworthy distinction: “Socrates was mistaken. It’s not the unexamined life that is not worth living, it’s the uncommitted life” (11). Professors and scholars have not only been among the first to take action on behalf of social change, but have been central to such movements (Lynn, Acts 44). Similarly, this book encourages people to reconsider current practices and belongs to the field of applied philosophy, a field that has brought about “incalculable practical differences” by applying moral theory in daily life (Rollin 64). The motivating factor behind this text is the grievous, real-life moral conundrums entailed in our current treatment of anymals. Four moral theories are presented, but the intended aim is the application of theoretical material. “Moral theorizing does, of course, have distinctive and valuable functions, but there are times at which it may have the effect of distracting us from our practical responsibilities” (MacIntyre 10). If we do not apply the work of Regan, Singer, Taylor, and Linzey in our daily lives, of what value is their work to us? Singer tells his readers that the whole way we look at moral issues . . . needs to be altered, and with it, the way of life that has come to be taken for granted in our society. Discussion, though, is not enough. What is the point of relating philosophy to public (and personal) affairs if we do not take our conclusions seriously? In this instance, taking our conclusion seriously means acting upon it. The philosopher will not find it any easier than anyone else to alter his attitudes and way of life. . . . The philosopher who does so . . . can find compensation in the satisfaction of a way of life in which theory and practice, if not yet in harmony, are at least coming together. (Writings 106, 117)

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Applied ethics directs philosophical thought “away from abstract debates toward resolutions to urgent and important public controversies” (Norton, Applied 131). One might reasonably argue that the only legitimate purpose of philosophical debate on moral conundrums is applied philosophy. Morality is rooted in practice; morality is as morality does. Moral theories may be regarded as tools. Philosophical “argument can prepare the ground and plant the seeds that may grow into new moral viewpoints and show anomalies in one’s ordinary perspective that ready us for the possibility of a new, revolutionary shift” (Rollin 46). This book introduces the most prominent moral theories regarding ethics and anymals, and highlights current inconsistencies in our moral practice, with the hope that greater knowledge might bring concrete change. This book exists because of applied philosophy, because of the unforgivable plight of many anymals today, because of the flagrant inconsistency in our treatment of sheep and chickens, mice and monkeys in comparison with our treatment of human beings, and because there is hope for concrete change. Analytic philosophy dominates academic discourse, but certain disciplines have inclined toward applied philosophy, or a combination of analytic and applied philosophy. Most notably, branches of philosophy that deal with urgent social issues and seek practical results engage in applied philosophy. Many environmental philosophers consider themselves activists (Marietta 6). As a result, this branch of philosophy has enjoyed considerable influence over the way common people think about the world and the way we treat the environment (Marietta 3). Some philosophers would argue that “environmental philosophy is environmental practice” (Klaver 68, 76). Philosophy begins as pure thought, but finds its meaning in concrete action that affects our lives and our world. Applied philosophy has been fundamental to Western thought at least since the time of Socrates: Here is one picture of philosophy. It goes on in an ivory tower pursued by cloistered academics who endlessly dispute the contemporary equivalents of questions like “how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?” It is far removed from the “real world,” even when philosophers spin theories about what is “real.” (In the real world, everyone knows what’s real, without needing philosophers to inform or misinform them.) Here is another picture of philosophy. Socrates is hauled into court and sentenced to death—not for anything he might have done,

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chapter one such as sell state secrets to the Lacedaimonians or assassinate Kleon–but for questioning religious ideas and moral ideals, thus bringing about the precipitous transformation of Athenian society. In the first picture, philosophy seems socially irrelevant. In the second it seems to be the most potent force of social change imaginable. (Callicott, “Environmental” 19)

Plato focused on the application of his ideas; the Republic is an example of practical ethics (N. White 2). Plato believed that the ideal city he described was not just the best possibility but a real possibility (Grube xiii). He believed that the fruits of philosophy could only be found in real life; he was “absolutely convinced” that philosophy was “the key to human happiness and welfare” (Grube xi). Because he was convinced that only practical philosophy could solve the evils of society, Plato asserted that philosophers ought to rule, or that rulers ought to become philosophers (473 c–d). Though his theories failed him in practice, Plato applied his radical utopian outlook in Sicily in 368 BCE. He was ready and willing to carry his thoughts from paper to the political and social arena. Like Socrates and Plato, Aristotle was convinced of the importance of applied philosophy. Rationality was extremely important to Aristotle—he taught that rationality sets humans apart from anymals, making us uniquely human. But it was not just thinking rationally that mattered to Aristotle; humans had to act rationally. Reason was to be our guide for leading a “good” life. For Aristotle, it was “the very activity of living a good life that [was] in itself the end” (Ostwald xvii). In Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle writes that “a young man is not a proper person to study political science, for he is inexperienced in the actions of life: but these are the subjects and grounds of this treatise. Moreover, being inclined to follow the dictates of passion, he will listen in vain, and without benefit since the end is not knowledge but practice” (I.3.6). Some schools of philosophy could not exist as mere theory (e.g., existentialism). Existentialism teaches that we must engage in the task of applied philosophy. Each individual is responsible for asserting her or his own destiny, which renders philosophical questions “personal, urgent, and anguished” (Blackham 152). Existentialism is rooted in the idea that philosophy is critical to each individual’s life and ought to be used “in facing the decisions of our personal lives and the problems of our civilization” (Blackham 165). Existentialist philosophers have included Kierkegaard who “insisted that philosophy should not be abstract, but based on personal experience”; Marcel, who taught

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that existence is “not a problem to be mastered . . . but a mystery to be lived and relived” (Blackham 152); and Heidegger, who encouraged living a life of transcending, passing beyond, rising outwards “towards the world, towards the future, and towards other people” (Whal 15). Heidegger’s moral theory requires a “resolute decision,” in which we assume responsibility for our own destiny (Whal 26–27). Similarly, Jaspers and Sartre stressed the importance of carrying philosophy beyond ideas to concrete action. Sartre wrote, “Commit yourself !” (Heinemann 129), “there is no reality except in action,” and insisted that each of us is no more than the life we live (Odajnyk xi). While some existentialists created a philosophy that stands as a denial of conventional ethics—a dismissal of moral absolutes in preference for living one’s own truth—all existentialists teach that philosophy means little or nothing if it is not applied philosophy. Marxism, measured by its “power of action” (Odajnyk 86), is another model of applied philosophy. Marx theorized that his reason for philosophizing was to change the world (Odajnyk 59). “The first commandment of Marxist morality consists in this: to participate with all strength in the struggle of the proletarian whose class assignment is identical with the liberation of all mankind” (Odajnyk 127). Marxist philosophy has been adopted and applied by millions of people, has had tremendous effect on the unfolding of history, and continues to determine political, economic, and social aspects of the world in which we live. Martin Luther King taught that there was no morally relevant difference between African Americans and “Caucasians,” and that as a consequence they ought both to be treated equally. This change was difficult to realize because it required those in power to accept financial sacrifices and, for many, a monumental shift in lifestyle. Nevertheless, legal equality between the races was achieved in the United States. King’s philosophy of equality would be comparatively irrelevant had it not been applied. In turn, King was influenced by Gandhi, who was both a practical philosopher and a political activist. In fact, Gandhi was an activist for more than half a century (Shinn 215). Just as ancient Greeks, existentialists, Marx, and King advocated applied philosophies that have influenced the lives of individuals and even nations, philosophical discourse now investigates our ethical obligations with regard to anymals and the environment, with accompanying practical consequences (Marietta 10). Contemporary philosophers such as Bernard Rollin, James Rachels, Mary Midgley, and

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Evelyn Pluhar, who have played a crucial role in the protectionist movement (Solomon 83), have the ultimate goal of changing how anymals are treated. In the introduction to Animal Rights and Human Morality, Rollin writes, “My interest in these questions, which was initially abstract and academic, became very practical and immediate” (ix). Michael Allen Fox, a philosopher and academic at the University of Toronto, opposed protectionist philosophy and published The Case for Animal Experimentation: An Evolutionary and Ethical Perspective (University of California Press 1986); he renounced his own work shortly after publication. Writing the book demonstrated to Fox that he could not rationally justify his antiprotectionist stance, so he changed his point of view and his lifestyle. He now speaks out against the use of animals in laboratories. His most recent book, Deep Vegetarianism (Temple University Press, 1999), provides a philosophical background for vegetarianism. Evelyn Pluhar writes: Bernard Rollin, Tom Regan, Peter Singer, and Steve Sapontzis have also incorporated their views into their lives, expending enormous energy and resources and enduring considerable antagonism in order to rationally change people’s perceptions of nonhuman animals. They have had no small measure of success, but this has probably come at a substantial personal price. Ethical deliberation is no abstract exercise when it has such consequences. (225)

This book is also in the tradition of applied philosophy; it is aimed at real-life issues and practical change. Chapter 8 presents what might be considered a utopian theory, though it is simply a consistent version of contemporary morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life applied to other life-forms. Applied utopian visions offer insights and solutions to real-life moral conundrums, as will be discussed in more depth shortly. Term 3. Moral Standing Moral standing indicates those individuals that moral agents must respect in certain separately determined ways. In Western countries all human beings are assumed to have moral standing. Moral standing distinguishes entities that moral agents must treat with “minimum standards of acceptable behaviour” (Warren 13). Entities who hold moral standing gain a certain moral status— their interests must be taken into consideration—and this moral status

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carries ethical obligations. Moral agents, those of us capable of acting either morally or immorally, must respect those who have moral standing because entities with moral standing warrant, deserve, or merit moral consideration (Bernstein 10). Moral standing does not determine how an individual ought to be handled, only that there are guidelines that must be followed. Kenneth Goodpaster introduced the notion of moral considerability (now commonly referred to as “moral standing”) in his 1978 article “On Being Morally Considerable.” He did not discuss moral behavior, but focused on the requirements with regard to a particular entity that afford that entity moral standing, or moral considerability. • First, moral considerability is not dependent on, and does not imply, moral rights. Moral rights are separate, narrower, and ancillary (311). In short, one cannot have any moral rights unless assessed as morally considerable. In order to be granted the right to life, for instance, an individual must first be deemed morally considerable. • Second, the issue of moral considerability does not involve moral significance or the weight of that moral standing. Adjudicating competing moral claims is separate and ancillary (311–12). Moral considerability is all or none and determines but one thing: the presence of a privileged moral status—that of being morally considerable. • Goodpaster distinguishes between what we are accustomed to (normative ethics) and what we are able to accomplish (practical ethics), as opposed to what we can ideally conceptualize. He defines “regulative” moral considerability as a situation in which an entity is morally considerable, but where that entity’s moral status is overlooked, or overridden, for practical reasons (313). The concept of moral standing has become central to environmental and protectionist ethics, but specific requirements for this heightened moral status remain unclear. In Regan’s theory, “subjects-of-a-life” have moral standing; Singer’s theory reserves this privilege for “sentient beings.” In Linzey’s theory, all of creation has moral standing; Taylor’s theory offers moral standing to natural teleological entities. In the field of protectionism, there is no definitive category of entities that have moral standing. In the past, philosophers have commonly listed mental faculties such as understanding, intending, suffering, and consciousness as primary requirements for moral standing (Orlans 17). A more rudimentary

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and all-encompassing requirement for moral standing is having interests (Rollin 35). A number of philosophers argue that merely to have interests warrants moral standing because any being with interests prefers that those interests be honored rather than thwarted. This is an extension of personal human understanding: we prefer to have our interests respected and fulfilled rather than ignored and neglected. Western law, backed by Western ethics, asserts that human beings have moral standing, whether newborn, brain dead, comatose, on death row, or on the edge of natural death. People are not permitted to treat other human beings in certain harmful ways. Even when a criminal is sentenced to death in the United States, there are strict guidelines as to how the individual is to be handled prior to and after death. These guidelines demonstrate moral standing—the individual, though to be killed, must be managed (and killed) in a certain manner. In contrast, it has been and remains common in the West to deny moral standing to anymals. (Some are protected as human “property,” or through special legal status such as “game” animals or “endangered species,” but only indirectly and through special legal designations do anymals gain any moral standing.) Consequently, while we are not permitted to kill a human regardless of the reason, we can kill a mole because it digs a hole in our yard, a raccoon in order to show off its tail, or a Charolais cow so that we can eat her flesh. We can destroy most anymals whenever we feel it benefits us to do so because we grant them no moral standing. Moral standing is central to the debate surrounding ethics and anymals: do beluga whales or white-eared hummingbirds have moral standing? What about Red Wattle hogs? If so, why? If not, why not if all human beings do have moral standing? Moral philosophers grapple with whether the interests of anymals are sufficient to grant them full moral standing—on a par with the human animal—and if so, what that moral standing will entail for an olingo or a black colobus. Some argue that their moral standing is lesser than that of human beings, or that they have no moral standing whatsoever; others differ. Term 4. Morally Relevant Distinctions Morally relevant distinctions are differences between individuals or groups of individuals that warrant treating those individuals differently, such as sentience.

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It will not do simply to cite difference between humans and animals in order to provide a rational basis for excluding animals from the scope of our moral deliberations. Certainly [a human being] is the only creature who grates Parmesan cheese over . . . food, wears panty hose, pays taxes, and joins health clubs. There are innumerable differences that obtain between people and animals. The question is, do these differences serve to justify a moral difference? (Rollin 7)

Moral standing is determined via morally relevant distinctions. A morally relevant distinction is made between individuals or groups of individuals and affects morality—how that individual, or group of individuals, ought to be treated. When there is no morally relevant distinction, individuals ought to be treated similarly in similar situations. Martin Luther King and many others argued for an extension of ethical theory across race lines. This argument was rooted in the concept of morally relevant similarities: Africans suffered emotionally and physically from abuse and deprivation as do those of European descent. The compelling point, perhaps the most important point, was that all people ought to be protected if “white” people ought to be protected. “The simple point to be made about discrimination against blacks and women is that it involves making distinctions along lines that are morally irrelevant to the question at hand” (Finsen 181). If a distinction is to be made regarding the treatment of individuals or groups of individuals, that distinction ought to be morally relevant. There is no conclusive list of morally relevant distinctions; this matter is hotly debated in contemporary ethics. Goodpaster, in “On Being Morally Considerable,” argues that rationality is not a morally relevant criterion. If rational thought were a morally relevant criterion, children and those without full mental faculties would not qualify for moral standing, an idea soundly rejected by the overwhelming majority (314). Peter Singer writes, “If possessing a higher degree of intelligence does not entitle one human to use another for his own ends, how can it entitle humans to exploit nonhumans for the same purpose?” (Animal 7). Either levels of rationality are morally relevant, or they are not. Levels of reason cannot be irrelevant to the moral standing among human beings yet relevant to the moral standing between human beings and anymals. Such a contradiction is (ironically) irrational. Utilitarians such as Jeremy Bentham and Peter Singer focus on sentience, the ability to feel and suffer, as the morally relevant criterion by which moral standing ought to be established. Other creatures

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react to pain in ways similar to human beings (vocalizing, contorted body movements, attempting to escape); they share neurological and mental faculties associated with pain in human beings. Singer concludes, “There is no good reason, scientific or philosophical, for denying that animals feel pain. If we do not doubt that other humans feel pain, we should not doubt that other animals do so too” (Animal 15). If sentience is morally relevant among human beings, consistency and impartiality require that sentience be acknowledged as morally relevant with regard to other creatures. Sentience is a morally relevant distinction that carries certain moral obligations. For instance, thickness of skin will help to determine morally acceptable behavior if sentience is taken into account. The swat of a puma is likely to wound a zebra, but will almost certainly kill a Tasmanian rat kangaroo; a bushy coati will be less harmed by the sting of a nettle than a newborn cotton rat, while an Arctic shrew will weather a brisk snowstorm better than a wallaby. What is hurtful to a newborn or a desert animal will not necessarily be hurtful to a mature animal or an animal that dwells in the Arctic. The interests of sentient individuals vary according to physiology— but only in degree, not in kind. The duties of moral agents, for instance the duty not to cause needless suffering, vary according to morally relevant criteria such as the thickness of a species’ skin. Goodpaster agrees with Bentham and Singer, but not completely. He notes that sentience is a sufficient condition for moral considerability, but not a necessary condition. He explains: “[S]entience is an adaptive characteristic of living organisms that provides them with a better capacity to anticipate, and so avoid, threats to life” (“On Being” 316). Most of us will avoid pain simply because it hurts, but our avoidance of pain often has a greater function—keeping us alive and well. The purpose of sentience might be described as the protection of life. If we look beyond sentience, perhaps there is a deeper morally relevant distinction to be found. While some organisms are not sentient, they also have circumstances and conditions that are in their interest, such as conditions that allow for survival and reproduction (“On Being” 316–17). Goodpaster argues that these broader interests, interests that lie beyond sentience, are also morally relevant because they can be thwarted or satisfied. He explores the connection between beneficence and morality, and asserts that having something be in one’s interest is the fundamental distinction of moral relevance that determines moral considerability (“On Being” 316, 322).

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Some distinctions may seem, on the surface, greater than they are in actuality. For instance, mammals require air, but fish do not, so one might reasonably argue that it is okay to submerge fish in water (because this would not cause harm); both a hognose skunk and a barracuda have an interest in breathing oxygen. The skunk’s interest in oxygen cannot be satisfied underwater, while the fish must be underwater to gain oxygen. Each can be suffocated, though in different ways; each has an interest in not suffocating. A morally relevant distinction cannot be made between these two animals on the basis of need for oxygen. However, a morally relevant distinction ought to be made regarding how these interests are fulfilled. A skunk must not be kept under water, while a fish must not be kept above water, if their most basic interests are to be satisfied and their lives thereby preserved. In contrast, a saguaro cannot be said to have an interest in obtaining oxygen, and a morally relevant distinction can be made between hognose skunks and barracudas on the one hand, and saguaros on the other, with regard to their need for oxygen. As the example indicates, biological needs are an important source of morally relevant distinctions. None of the distinctions between human beings and other-thanhuman animals that have been constructed throughout history has gained acceptance as morally relevant in contemporary philosophy. Distinctions once accepted include the ability to use language, think rationally, and create culture. While the presence or absence of these qualities in anymals is debatable, each of these qualities is lacking in at least some human beings. Current Western ethics do not consider the absence of language, rationality, or culture morally relevant among human beings—those who cannot speak or are not rational are neither more nor less morally considerable than their peers. If these distinctions have no moral bearing between human beings, then they have none between species. The presence or absence of an immortal soul is sometimes offered as a morally relevant distinction between human beings and anymals, even though scripture is far from conclusive on the matter. Because this faith-based assertion can neither be proved nor disproved (in human beings or in anymals), it has no place in philosophy. Even if it could be demonstrated to be true, why would the absence of a soul make the lives of anymals less valuable? Such an absence actually suggests that an anymal’s fleeting life would be more valuable, since death would be his or her absolute end (Phelps, Love 7).

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There is no definitive set of morally relevant criteria, yet this concept remains critical to determining moral stranding and the concurrent duties of moral agents. It is this notion of morally relevant differences between humans and animals that serves as the most powerful tool in the investigation of the moral status of animals. If we can find no morally relevant differences between humans and animals, and if we accept the idea that moral notions apply to men, it follows that we must rationally extend the scope of moral concern to animals. (Rollin 7)

As Rollins points out, philosophers have failed to conclusively establish any morally relevant distinction between all human beings and anymals. Where there is no morally relevant distinction, moral agents are obliged to treat like cases in a like manner; consistency requires this of us. What exactly a “like manner” might entail is the topic of Part III. Term 5. Inherent Value/Intrinsic Worth Except in the chapter on Paul Taylor, this text does not distinguish between the three terms, inherent value, intrinsic worth, and inherent worth, because Taylor is the only author discussed who makes a distinction between these terms in his work. J. Baird Callicott writes: The term “intrinsic value” and the less-used term “inherent worth” mean, lexically speaking, pretty much the same thing. Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, tenth edition, defines “intrinsic” thus: “belonging to the essential nature or constitution of a thing.” And it defines “inherent” thus: “involved in the constitution or essential character of something . . . intrinsic.” The English word “value” comes from the Latin word “valere to be worth, to be strong”; and “worth” comes from the Old English word “woerth, worthy, of value.” Lexically speaking, to claim that the value (or worth) of something is intrinsic (or inherent) is to claim that its value (or worth belongs to its essential nature or constitution. (“Intrinsic Value In” 6)

It has become more common for scholars to distinguish between these terms, but three out of four of the works that this text explores use these terms interchangeably. Therefore, except in the chapter dealing with Taylor’s work, “value” and “worth” are interchangeable, as are “inherent” and “intrinsic.” The “more or less similar concepts . . . inherent value, inherent or intrinsic worth” contain a core meaning; these labels define “which

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natural entities have moral status” (Verhoog 1, 2). To propose inherent value is to posit that “value inheres in natural objects as an intrinsic characteristic, i.e., as part of the constitution of things” (Callicott, “Intrinsic Value, Quantum” 261). Inherent value is “grounded” in an entity’s “actual properties, and it must be objective and independent of any valuing consciousness” (Callicott, “Intrinsic Value, Quantum” 258). Inherent value exists apart from any outside influence, and while human beings may discover or assess such values, they “do not generate them” (Lee 299). Inherent value/intrinsic worth denote that value lies within an entity; an entity that has inherent value is both the source and the locus of its own worth or value. You might be hard pressed to answer the question, “What good are you?” The question stumps us because we view our value as inherent, as beyond instrumental or practical value. We may not be good for anything, but we believe we are good in and of ourselves, without having to do anything; we believe we have inherent value. In this sense the question “ ‘How do we know that intrinsic value exists?’ is similar to the question ‘How do we know that consciousness exists?’ We experience both consciousness and intrinsic value introspectively and irrefutably” (Callicott, “Intrinsic Value In” 1). But what is inherent value, who exactly has this quality, and how can we know which entities have inherent value? Some protectionists argue that having interests is synonymous with having inherent value. If something can be in an entity’s interest, then that entity has inherent value: “A sentient being . . . has intrinsic value in that it experiences what happens to it as good or bad for itself ” (A. Taylor, Animal 251). In this view, any entity that has interests concurrently has inherent value. An entity that has inherent value holds a different moral status from entities that do not have inherent value. Whether rooted in biology or spirituality (as indicated by E. O. Wilson or Tom Regan, and Andrew Linzey respectively), inherent value implies that an entity is to be treated as an end in itself, not as a means to our ends (inherent value as opposed to instrumental value) (Lockwood, “End” 266). For protectionists, “[t]he heart of the concept of the intrinsic value of life is the claim that the value of an animal is not limited to an analysis of its usefulness to humans. (The value of something that is a means to an end is an extrinsic value)” (Orlans 202). Central to inherent value is the debate over moral standing (Lockwood, “End” 269) since inherent value is one means of assessing

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moral standing. Generally speaking, in contemporary Western societies, human beings, but not anymals, are generally assumed to have inherent value. Defining inherent value and delineating all those entities that have (and do not have) inherent value approaches the field of meta-ethics; however, this question will be partially addressed in Part III. Finally, inherent value does not “make its possessor ‘inviolable’ ” (Callicott, “Inherent Value In” 4). Though Western cultures generally agree that each human being has inherent value, the United States permits capital punishment. Nevertheless, the concept of the inherent value of human life still plays a role. Because we believe in the inherent value of human life, we cannot randomly kill people; rather, “sufficient justification for doing so must be offered” (Callicott, “Inherent Value In” 4). In contrast, when killing a Black Angus cow or hammerhead shark, an animal assumed to lack inherent value, no justification is required. Method 3. Lifeboat Scenarios Lifeboat scenarios are a worthwhile tool for exploring moral theories, though they have limitations. Philosophers have frequently been criticized for reaching “outrageous” conclusions in ridiculous scenarios, yet there is value in examining hypothetical scenarios: “A moral theory is not just about ordinary life. It includes principles that help one to determine the appropriate actions in special cases” (Pluhar 104). Therefore these principles are rightly applied to extreme cases. For philosophers, “uncommon cases do not distort normative moral theories: they test them. Nothing reveals more about our moral commitments than an emergency!” (Pluhar 105). When exploring moral theories in extreme and unlikely situations, inconsistencies and previously unimagined difficulties may surface. Creative lifeboat situations are generally designed to confront a specific dilemma. For instance, while it is easy to say that life ought to be preserved whenever possible, it is a very different matter to decide what that means in the unlikely event of five individuals in the middle of an ocean on a lifeboat that holds only four. Such a situation helps to move concepts such as the sanctity of life from theory to practice. Does “sanctity of life” require that all die to prevent one from being sacrificed, or does “sanctity of life” require that one be sacrificed for

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the benefit of the other four? If so, which one ought to be sacrificed? Lifeboat scenarios exacerbate problems while restricting solutions, thus forcing difficult decisions. Consider more closely the five individuals on a life raft that holds only four. Suppose a naked mole rat, a spectacled elephant shrew, a hyrax, a needle-clawed bush baby, and a human being occupy this four-entity raft adrift at sea. Regardless of body size and weight, only four of the five can remain if the vessel is to stay afloat. This scenario forces us to look at the value of life from a different angle. If life is valuable—which Western ethics currently assumes to be the case for human beings—then it would be reasonable to assume that all life is valuable. (Recall that there exists no morally relevant distinction between all human beings and anymals.) We are faced with the task of determining on what grounds, if any, one of these five individuals might be tossed overboard for the sake of the other four. Different theories will lead to different answers. The value of hypothetical situations lies in extricating us from direct contact with the entrenched positions we usually hold. For instance, one might explore abortion by setting up a lifeboat loaded with developing human beings. We can imagine a lifeboat that holds only ten and has eleven aboard: an adult human being and her twoyear-old child, and nine “developing” human beings, one at the moment of conception, the others each one month further along than the previous. We can ask ourselves, “Who must go overboard, if anyone?” We can then ask “What if the boat holds only nine?” and so forth. In this way, lifeboat scenarios help philosophers to examine situations with a measure of distance, providing the opportunity to explore previously unimagined possibilities and alternative viewpoints. Hypothetical situations, created by pure imagination, carry much less personal investment than common moral topics of discourse, such as abortion. While most philosophers understand the implications buried in any given scenario, a lifeboat case can help people see beyond long-held assumptions. In addition, hypothetical situations allow us to step away from the horrors of real-life situations. Those who have explored the horrors of slaughterhouses and “shelters” may appreciate the alternative of a less immediate approach to exploring moral dilemmas. Lifeboat scenarios may help philosophers with any of the following tasks:

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finding logical extremes within a given theory, finding weak points in a particular theory, discovering inconsistencies in the application of a theory, isolating relevant factors in a moral conundrum (Pluhar 285), stepping away from entrenched points of view in contemporary issues, reminding readers that philosophy is a process of exploration, and offering reprieves when dealing with difficult or depressing reallife issues.

Lifeboat scenarios also have drawbacks and limitations. For instance, they are limited in application. Such scenarios are often of limited value as determinants of what one ought to do in day-to-day life— precisely where the vast majority of our moral decisions are made. In addition, while an inability to successfully apply a moral theory to a lifeboat scenario is an important indicator of a flaw, it should not completely discredit a well-crafted theory. Theories have sometimes been too readily dismissed because they cannot conclusively decide whether to cause the last flea-bitten numbat or a host of pregnant two-toed sloths to sink or swim. Because of their outlandish nature and limited application, lifeboat scenarios cannot reasonably make or break a moral theory. Any ethical theory can be made to look ridiculous in a well-crafted lifeboat scenario. Such scenarios demonstrate that the implications of a given idea are almost always beyond anything anyone can anticipate. This reminds us that the essence of philosophy lies in grappling with conundrums, and that philosophy is not a rigid defense of one’s point of view, but a process; this book is part of that process. Neither should we assume, just because a theory does not clearly indicate what to do with an unusual group of sailors on a lifeboat, that a theory has nothing legitimate to say about the ethics of destroying billions of White-Barred Plymouth Rock hens and Narragansett turkeys for a human culinary predilection. Lifeboat scenarios should not be allowed to discredit philosophy and log-jam the process of finding reasonable solutions to complex current dilemmas. In conjunction with lifeboat scenarios, philosophers need to focus on specific real-life issues (rather than general philosophical conundrums) in order to reach much-needed practical results. Finally, it is important to remember that lifeboat scenarios are, in many ways, not particularly exceptional. World hunger, trying to feed more mouths than current eating habits, population, and resources will permit, is not entirely unlike a lifeboat scenario. Those who have

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been cast overboard are those with whom wealthy Western nations do not choose to share food supplies. Every day, without being aware of our choices, we each decide whether or not to share with the needy; we each decide who has been shoved off of the lifeboat. Method 4. Idealism In the pursuit of consistency, this book follows a long tradition of using what many people consider utopian, or idealistic, visions. The field of ethics seeks ideal moral standards. Moral philosophy is based on what people ought to do, not on what they actually do. It is unlikely that any communicating human being has never uttered a lie; it is unlikely that anyone has avoided all forms of cruelty. Yet ethical theories tend to indicate that we ought not to lie, and that we ought not to be cruel. Generally speaking, ethical theories are utopian in nature—they indicate behaviors preferred in an ideal world. Utopian visions challenge accepted and established practices, but they do not violate commonly accepted “laws” of nature—“truths” as we experience them. However, they do challenge the norm for social organization (Manuel 217). Utopias are rooted in a hoped-for reality, an improved vision of society, an inspirational glimpse of higher possibilities (Patrick 108–09). The word “utopia” has Greek roots meaning “no place” (W. Nelson 1). Some argue that utopian ethical systems are useless because they are utopian—nonexistent and therefore assumed to be impossible and impractical—but philosophers have shown otherwise. While utopias are outside common experience, their goals are concrete, and the ideals presented are meant for this world. Philosophers have shown that by visualizing a perfect world, we are able to envisage a potential reality, and potential realities may act as catalysts for change. In truth, utopian visions have proven to be powerful instruments of reform (Manuel 217). Karl Marx offered an ideal vision—a utopian world—that had a direct, deliberate, and lasting influence on human history. For Marx, the communist utopian vision was more real than what others considered “fact” (Berlin 3). His seemingly fantastic “ideals” eventually became the blueprint for the ideal economic systems of some powerful nations. Gandhi also believed that his philosophic ideals were more than a dream. When he read Ruskin’s book, Unto This Last, he gained three insights that changed his life:

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chapter one 1. That the good of the individual is contained in the good of all. 2. That a lawyer’s work has the same value as the barber’s inasmuch as all have the same right of earning their livelihood from their work. 3. That a life of labour, i.e., the life of the tiller of soil and the handicraftsman is the life worth living. (Gandhi 299)

When Gandhi rose the morning after finishing Ruskin’s book, he was “ready to reduce these principles to practice” (Gandhi 299). Not long after, Phoenix Settlement was established. Phoenix was the first of several self-sufficient rural communities that Gandhi created; others included Tolstoy Farm (Gandhi 429–30). In Gandhi’s rural communities, he and hundreds of others lived his utopian vision, embracing poverty and practicing nonviolence (Wolpert 295). Gandhi argued that living in accordance with one’s ideal vision is essential: any action less than ideal threatens the entire process. “Gandhi saw that we were liable to be mistaken not only about what can be done but also about the importance, in relation to our general objective, of what we are trying to do. In other words, we seldom know how our immediate objectives are related to the world that we should like to create” (Horsburgh, Non-Violence 42). Consequently, we must live our goals in everyday life if we are to achieve what we hope to achieve. We must be what we want to see. Gandhi therefore focused on means rather than ends; he viewed means as a seed that creates a particular end. He taught that if an individual focuses on the means, the end will take care of itself (Horsburgh, Non-Violence 42–43). And the way to take care of the means is to live “an intensely moral life” (Dhawan, Political 60). If one acts with hostility, then a hostile environment is created; if one acts with compassion, then a compassionate environment is created. If we desire peace we must not use military force: a peaceful end cannot be achieved through violent means. One could witness Gandhi’s philosophy in his day-to-day life. Living with him [Gandhi] one could see why he was loved: he loved. Not merely in isolated incidents, but day in and day out, morning, noon, and night, for decades, in every act and word, he had manifested his love of individuals and of mankind. Nor could one fail to notice, in each sentence and attitude, his lifelong loyalty to a few simple, widely flouted principles: the exaltation of means over ends; nonviolence; the primacy of truth; the curing qualities of trust. . . . He faced each day’s issues in the light of eternal and universal values. (Fischer 143)

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Gandhi believed that if people would live an ideal life in each moment, they could create an ideal world. Gandhi’s vision held that every action is morally relevant, and that by living an ideal we create a utopia. In Gandhi, “word, creed, and deed were one; he was integrated. That is the meaning of integrity” (Fischer 40). Gandhi’s “utopian” philosophy has been extremely important, not only to India, but to the civil rights movement in the United States. Plato, also an idealist, described in The Republic an ideal state in order to elucidate the concept of justice (Boyd 5). While Plato arrived at conclusions that many consider absurd, he held consistency as a priority; he consistently applied philosophical theory to his fictional city-state. Plato fully believed that his theory not only could be implemented, but that it ought to be. In 367, Plato was invited to Sicily to combine philosophy and practical politics. Dionysius II sent for Plato “to get his advice on how to run the state” (Grube xiii). The experiment failed, but his ideas—including his idealism—continue to be studied and taught more than two millennia later. Similarly, Thomas More created a utopian community to explore the concept of enlightened rationality (W. Nelson 8). In the process, he grappled with social, political, and religious conflicts (Cotterill xxxix). While scholars generally agree that More did not embrace every conclusion he reached in presenting his utopian community (Cotterill xl), he maintained philosophic consistency. Through the use of his utopian model, he playfully explored where certain ideas might lead if taken to their logical extreme (Lewis 69). (Utopian philosophers share the use of logical extremes with those who use lifeboat scenarios toward the same goal—the goal of challenging accepted norms.) Utopian visions have had a tremendous impact on our thinking and on our world. For centuries philosophers have inspired people to act in certain ways based on philosophical theories. While utopian visions have only rarely been enacted, the philosophical idealistic notions have been extremely important to the unfolding of history, and ultimately to our daily lives. From Plato to Gandhi, idealistic visions have a long-standing place in ethics, one that has left an indelible mark on civilization. Idealistic visions are not exclusively the realm of philosophy. Science and mathematics also acknowledge the value of pure ideas. “Classical Euclidean geometry is based on a set of Platonic ideal shapes, to

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which nature provides at best imperfect representations” (Halley, “Uses” 2). Conceptual shapes as simple and fundamental as the perfect triangle do not exist—but the science of geometry is built on such perfect, nonexistent forms. One of the most dramatic examples of the application of an idea that initially seemed to be purely hypothetical is “i ” or “iota.” In mathematics, iota is a number: the square root of minus one. Classical algebra does not admit of a negative square root (because any number multiplied by itself is positive), yet mathematicians invented this impossible number and thereafter found many ways to use this “impossibility.” Many scholars now consider iota, a logical impossibility, to be the basis of “the most remarkable formula in mathematics,” the “unification of algebra and geometry” (Feynman 10, 22). Accepting the concept of iota, even though it was mathematically impossible, led to the development of a system called “complex numbers,” which resulted in important innovations. “Complex numbers” are critical to modern engineering and physics; both would be radically altered without them (Halley, Unpublished communication). Iota is used extensively in mathematics and physics. Using complex numbers, the description of how waves move and spread is shorter and simplier and description of how waves move and spread using complex numbers is shorter and simpler and includes constructions that are considered some of the most beautiful in all of mathematics. Another example of the important application of iota is in the examination of the movement of electricity between the elements in radios. Without complex numbers, one must explore the ways in which waves are shifted and distorted; with the use of complex numbers the problem can be set up so that waves seem to disappear and everything looks (in terms of the mathematical analysis) like a simple battery and a heater. Scholars have found this concept, though it is an absurdity, indispensable “in the design of aeroplane wings and electronic circuits, in complicated statistical analyses, in quantum theory and in the making and breaking of top secret military codes” (Series 139). This new system of mathematics, born of an “impossibility,” simplified certain areas of mathematics dramatically, with real-life consequences. Another example is the science of “fractals,” created when mathematicians attempted to create idealized numerical “monsters,” sets of extreme irregularity. As one might expect, creating “monsters” with numbers was considered purely theoretical, irrelevant to real life. Mathematics usually focused on those sets and functions applic-

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able to classical calculus; irregular sets or functions were generally “ignored as ‘pathological’ and not worthy of study” (Falconer xiii). These “mathematical monsters” remained abstract curiosities until Mandelbrot discovered “fractals”: Until recently, ecologists thought about spatial and temporal patterns in terms of the analytical tools available to them—classical Euclidean geometry. Although these tools were recognized as inadequate to understand or even describe spatial and temporal patterns observed in Nature (Erickson 1945), there was little consensus as to where lay the problem. This changed with Mandelbrot’s famous synthesis and popularization of fractals (Mandelbrot 1983) and the rapid percolation of his ideas through all fields of science. Since then, there has been an explosion of interest in applying fractal methods to various natural phenomena, including: spatial patterns in geomorphology, clouds, surface roughness and other properties of materials, galactic structure, protein structure, climatic variation, earthquakes, fires, blood and lymph networks, cortical area, and DNA sequences (reviewed by Feder 1988, Falconer 1990 and Turcotte 1997). Fractal ideas have been applied to virtually every field of science, including ecology. (Halley, “Uses” 2)

As fractal geometry began to emerge in the late nineteenth century, “mathematicians created shapes—sets of points—that seemed to have no counterpart in nature” (Giffin). But Mandelbrot “argued that many of science’s traditional mathematical models are ill-suited to natural forms and processes” (Giffin). Fractals proved a better model and “have found widespread application in a range of scientific fields, including ecology” (Halley, “Uses” 1). Many “pathological” shapes discovered by mathematicians from generations gone by have become “useful approximations of tree bark and lung tissue, clouds and galaxies” (Giffin). The “abstract” mathematics that emerged from these “hypothetical monsters” has turned out to be more applicable than any other form of mathematics when describing natural shapes and processes (Giffin). “Strictly speaking, no ecological pattern can be truly fractal, but fractal methods may nonetheless provide the most efficient tool available for describing and predicting ecological patterns at multiple scales” (Halley, “Uses” 1). The science of fractals is now one of the fastest growing areas of applied mathematics. Idealized numerical “monsters,” long discounted as fanciful and irrelevant, have come to explain real-world situations. By exploring limits, by challenging accepted boundaries, people find answers to perplexing questions. The “idealized abstractions” of one generation have become “an indispensable necessity for the next” (Halley, Unpublished communication). Thinkers such as Gandhi and

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Mandelbrot demonstrated that abstract, fantastic, and utopian ideals— even when they seem to have no application in our present worldview—have tremendous practical value. In math, physics, economics, and philosophy, great thinkers have demonstrated that theoretical ideals are not frivolous contrivances, but important channels of invention and intellectual progress. If we do not push the conceptual limits of our understanding, whether in geometry or ethics, we are less likely to discover alternative ways of understanding the world and our ethical obligations therein. Method 5. Consistency and Logical Extremes Two core methods of Western philosophy, the uses of reason and consistency, can culminate in logical extremes; reason, consistency, and logical extremes are central to the present work and to Western philosophy in general. “Dedication to the ideal of rationality is no more unjustifiable than dedication to the general welfare, fair play, human rights, or any other moral value” (Sapontzis 8–9). Reason, if pursued far enough, leads to logical extremes. Consistency (or universalizability) is also critical to sound philosophy and can likewise lead to logical extremes. Consistency is critical to the philosophic process: “To abandon consistency as a criterion of what one permits oneself to believe is to abandon the examined life, personally, and Western civilization, culturally” (Callicott, “Environment” 25). DeGrazia writes: As emphasized by such philosophers as Kant and R. M. Hare, while moral judgments may be particular, each implies a general judgment. Thus “He should not lie” implies something like “People should not lie in situations relevantly similar to his.” After all, there is presumably some reason why he shouldn’t lie, and this reason will apply in cases other than this one. To claim that he should not lie but she should, according to the principle or universalizability, one would have to hold that there is a relevant difference between his and her circumstances (or between him and her)—on pain of unintelligibility. (50)

But if we are consistent, if no one is ever permitted to lie, what do we do in the famous dilemma Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) once faced: If a murderer is in pursuit of his victim and asks you where the victim is hiding . . . and you know the answer, what ought you to say? Logical extremes can seem irrelevant and frivolous: how often does a murderer ask us where his next victim is hiding, and you happen

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to know the answer? Nonetheless, like lifeboat scenarios, these dilemmas are important to exploring moral theories. Philosophers examine how far a point of view might be taken with the use of reason and remaining consistent—not how far an idea might “reasonably” be taken— but how far a point of view might be carried as a matter of philosophical consistency. Exploring the extremes of an argument through philosophic consistency may help with the following important processes: • identifying a middle ground between extremes; • uncovering the fullest implications of a theory, which facilitates examination of possible side effects and side issues associated with a given theory; • identifying a point at which the application of a particular principle or theory seems to become unreasonable, and why; • determining how far it might be reasonable to pursue a certain line of thought, and why it might be unreasonable to go any further; • stepping beyond blind spots and biases to consider new and challenging ideas that might otherwise be overlooked. With these benefits in mind, chapter 8 examines contemporary ethics specifically to discover where certain life-affirming ethics might ultimately lead if consistently applied and carried to their logical conclusion across species. The goal of chapter 8 is, therefore, to consistently apply ethical principles currently held with regard to human life to all life. This necessarily results in a point of view that seems extreme, which raises important questions—questions that as yet remain unanswered (and largely unexplored). When Western ethics regarding the value of human life are extended to elephant fish and cabbage butterflies the moral conclusions might seem absurd. For instance, most of us would be indignant—even repulsed—if a business perpetually impregnated women, then forcibly extracted and sold their nursing milk to satisfy the culinary preferences of other adult humans. But few Westerners are bothered by businesses that profit in this same way from the nursing milk of Guernsey cows and Nubian goats. Put in this manner, the “dairy” industry looks sinister—absurd. Apparent absurdities and discrepancies attract the attention of moral philosophers and provide a backdrop for philosophical investigation: Is such treatment of Brown Swiss cows and Nubian nannies as indefensible as it appears to be for human beings? An apparent absurdity can highlight inconsistencies, point to

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untenable yet commonly accepted practices, or reveal that an apparent absurdity actually is absurd. Why are we drinking from the teats of cattle? Exploring logical extremes can reveal something that is in fact absurd but that has gone unnoticed because it is a common practice. Human beings may go to remarkable extremes to avoid death. In contrast, we harm and destroy millions of other living entities routinely for the sake of testing the toxicity of household products (or cosmetics) and to satisfy culinary preferences. Common practices are often the best targets for taking a common practice or idea to its logical extreme. What if we approached all life as we approach human life? What if we apply our extreme approach to human life to all life that is similar in morally relevant ways? Carrying our current attitude toward human life to its logical extreme—applying this principle to other mammals, for example, reveals our inconsistency. For example, many citizens believe that experimenting on Barbary apes, domestic cats, or albino rats is necessary— that experiments are the harbingers of tremendous medical benefits—yet they recoil when they hear about the Tuskegee syphilis studies conducted on poor men of African descent or the hepatitis studies conducted on severely mentally disadvantaged children (Regan, “Animal” 68–69, 78–79). Did we learn something of value from these studies? Yes. Does that make them okay? Most of us offer a resounding, “No!” Taking our view of anymal experimentation to its extreme—applying it to human scenarios—reveals how we really feel about purposefully causing others to suffer and die for medical advances. Similarly, a majority of citizens remain completely unaware that there is absolutely no biological need to eat flesh or drink the nursing milk of other mammals. Most people continue to believe that drinking nursing milk after we have been weaned from our mother’s breasts and eating the bodies of Cornish chickens, Hereford cattle, spotted pigs, and Coho salmon are important to good health—in spite of evidence to the contrary. The glaring inconsistency between what we do to anymals and what we do for ourselves, what we want for them and what we want for ourselves, flies in the face of basic principles of justice, attracts philosophic sideways glances, and demands a thorough examination of current practices, morality, and protectionist philosophy. Taking such accepted practices to their logical extremes— applying them across species that are similar in morally relevant ways—is an effective philosophical tool for critically examining the morality of current beliefs and practices.

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Anymal suffering and loss of life are not the focus of this book (though the extreme suffering of billions of animals is certainly a motivating factor). Rather, this book falls into a long line of scholarly work written to encourage practical changes that will secure the safety of suffering and dying anymals. What is key is to understand that life has tremendous value to the one possessing that life. Life matters enormously to almost every entity that lives. Consider the adult life of a mayfly, which lasts for less than one day (less if eaten by a predator). Are we not all like the mayfly? From a geological perspective, human beings are alive for such a short period of time as to be unworthy of mention. Humans have a short life expectancy compared with a tortoise that might live one hundred and fifty years, or even the Komodo dragon, that lives for one hundred years. When one imagines the comings and goings of generations of people raising their families, loving and laboring, dreaming and dying, it is hard to take any one life as seriously as most of us take every single human life. People sometimes prosper, sometimes live long and healthy lives, but ultimately we all die. In this light and against the backdrop of myriad civilizations across a time span that disappears into a foggy past, our individual specks of time on earth seem as tragic, irrelevant, or perhaps comic as that of the mayfly. Each entity lives for a short time, often dies prematurely, but in any event, always dies. In some cases a given life also matters to a select group of other entities, such as members of a family unit or small community. This is particularly true of gregarious animals such as wolves and humans. Knowing that all living beings ultimately die must be juxtaposed against the fact that our existence is all that each of us has. For each living being, its own life seems precious, and that being will usually defend its physical existence ferociously. While juxtaposing a cosmic view of life with philosophy might seem strange to some readers, this outlook does not become relevant until chapter 8, which explores consistency in applied ethics with regard to the valuing of life of anymals versus that of human beings. How is it that we so thoroughly protect our personal sense of the value of our own life, extended outward to other human lives, yet fail to identify and care about this same tendency in all other species? How can such an ethic—an ethic that maintains human life even against all odds and at tremendous cost—be appropriate? Is it rational to hold on to life with such tenacity, to keep a human body alive that

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is unable to breathe, eat, or drink by itself just because it is in the form of a human body? What would our ethics look like if we extended our current practices with regard to human life to all other beings? Is it reasonable to sustain human life under such conditions while simultaneously destroying anymals en masse for culinary pleasures or hoped-for medical publications? Do such actions make sense in a world that swarms with mayflies and human beings, Bronze turkeys and white rats, all of whom behave in a way that indicates that they value their personal existence? Consistency suggests that our reaction to our own death and our treatment of other life-forms cannot both be appropriate moral responses to the predicament of life and death in which we all find ourselves. This book explores and critiques what foundational thinkers have had to say on this matter. This, then, is the motivating thought behind this accumulation of sentences and paragraphs, pages, and chapters. What follows examines this discrepancy between our extensive moral obligations to human life and comparative moral indifference toward all other life forms, through the works of prominent philosophers and ultimately through my own deliberations. Should life be maintained even against great odds at tremendous cost, or ought we to accept our inevitable and constant destruction more lightly—as we do the destruction of individuals from other species? This book provides no definitive answers, only a clearer vision of an obvious and flagrant moral inconsistency to which we have become accustomed, and to which most of us are blind. Part III is a study in consistency and logical extremes and carries our extensive current ethic concerning human life to its logical conclusion. Many are apt to feel that the latter chapters reach unexpected and remarkable conclusions, yet most of us accept these “radical” conclusions in cases concerning the lives of human animals—even though this inconsistency in our application of ethics appears indefensible (as Tom Regan and Peter Singer aptly demonstrate). This discrepancy is, most plainly, clearly indefensible because we have thus far established no morally relevant distinction between anymals and all human beings. Therefore consistency requires that we apply our current ethical standards with regard to human life to other life-forms. The burden of proof against what may seem an “extreme” conclusion lies with those who falter and fail in the consistent application of accepted moral standards. Though such an ethic may seem

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absurd, conclusions rooted in the consistent application of accepted moral standards are in fact moral imperatives. Term 6. Intuition In moral philosophy, “intuition” has a distinct meaning, different from common usage; intuition plays an important role, but application can be problematic. According to Webster’s Dictionary, intuition is the “direct perception of truth, fact, etc., independent of any reasoning process.” In the course of this book, “intuition” refers to “moral intuition,” which does not involve “second sense,” a hunch, or any such ill-defined mechanism. “Moral intuition” refers to that which is often assumed to lie behind moral consensus, or those truths that most people in contemporary Western society agree on, after reflection. For instance, we tend to share a moral intuition that the parents of a child ought to do what is best for their child, if they are able . . . even if the child’s best interests are costly to others. There is no law that enforces this moral ideal; neither is there a generally understood moral rule stating this broadly shared ethic. Moral intuition refers to this shared morality, this sense of what one ought to do in a given setting. Moral intuition is not always correct. The moral intuition of most parents is that they should look after their own child first and foremost. This is by no means morally sound, rational, or defensible. For example, consider the following lifeboat scenario: two rafts, one carrying ten children, the other carrying one child, and two parents on the shore able to pull only one of the life rafts to safety. The other raft must be left to carry its children out to sea. It just so happens that the lone individual is the two parents’ own offspring. Which life raft ought the parents to pull ashore? If they go with moral intuition and save their own child, ten (or ten thousand) other children will perish. Applying reason to this case indicates that our moral intuition is sometimes highly questionable. It does not seem morally preferable to save your own loved ones at the cost of many other lives. Nonetheless, few of us would blame parents for choosing to save their own child at the expense of other children because this is consistent with contemporary Western moral intuition. Those looking on are apt to think, “I would have done the same thing!”

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Speciesism is the human tendency to make a distinction with regard to how individuals ought to be treated based solely on species, regardless of morally relevant similarities and distinctions. “[S]peciesism, racism, and sexism are analogous: all three views imply that two individuals who do not otherwise differ in morally relevant respects may not receive equal consideration because of their species, race, or sex” (Pluhar 129). Racism (making moral distinctions between peoples based on race, a criterion that is not morally relevant), and sexism (making moral distinctions based on sex, which is not a morally relevant distinction), are analogous to speciesism. One who is sexist determines the quality and value of human life based on male-centered criteria, such as being tall or aggressive. One who is speciesist determines the “quality and value of life” via “humancentered criteria” as if these criteria “were appropriate for assessing the quality and value of all life” (Frey 199). For instance, a speciesist is likely to assume that intelligence is important to quality and value of life because human beings consider themselves to be highly intelligent. Those who make moral determinations based on species are apt to ignore morally relevant criteria, such as sentience or having an interest, preferring to determine moral standing—and what ought to be done—purely on the basis of species. Singer writes: Our society takes great pains to save human life, spending millions of dollars on elaborate medical care for everyone from premature babies to geriatrics. At the same time, we kill billions of animals and birds for the quite unnecessary purpose of flesh. If a dog is unwanted, it may be taken to a vet or the local pound to be destroyed; no one dreams of doing the same to unwanted humans. When a woman breaks her leg, the doctor will tell her not to worry because in a few weeks the leg will be as good as new again; when an animal fractures a bone, it is quite common to kill it in order to save the expense of medical treatment. (Singer, “Animals” 223)

One who is speciesist assumes that it is acceptable to treat nonhuman animals in ways they would never treat human beings (Thiele 173). Western societies are speciesist, and anymals are routinely denied moral consideration simply because they are not human beings (Orlans 20). The interests of human beings are almost always favored over the interests of members of any other species for no morally defensible reason.

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Richard Ryder coined the term “speciesism” in 1977 in an essay, “Experiments on Animals,” where he described speciesism as a form of discrimination and blamed entrenched speciesism for current indifference and cruelty toward anymals. In more recent years the term has been refined. Authors such as James Rachels differentiate various types of speciesism, such as radical and mild, qualified and unqualified. He explains radical speciesism as resulting in the most trivial interests of humans being placed above the most basic interests of anymals (Created 182). Radical speciesism is common in the Western world. Our speciesism also tends to be qualified—we generally do not argue that people are special simply because they are human beings, but posit such important features as rationality to “qualify” or justify speciesism. Roger Fjellstrom, in a paper titled “Specifying Speciesism,” points out that speciesism is a form of partiality that runs against “philosophical common sense” (71). When exploring the works of earlier writers such as those discussed in this book, one might do well to remember that fine-tuned definitions of “speciesism” such as those of Rachels and Fjellstrom did not exist when Singer, Regan, and Taylor wrote their groundbreaking theories. Speciesism is “common morality”; for most of us, it is not something we are apt to notice since we have grown accustomed to a speciesist way of thinking. However, as was pointed out earlier, what is common with regard to morality is not necessarily to be taken as what ought to be. This is supported by Fjellstrom, who noted that those who hold to speciesism fail to ground their elitist belief in sound moral reasoning and impartial judgment. Speciesism is generally illogical, impossible to prove by any acceptable means, and strongly counterintuitive (Fjellstrom 66). Questioning entrenched speciesism is one of the core reasons for the development of the ongoing philosophical debate concerning ethics and anymals. Method 6. Impartiality Impartiality is central to sound moral theory and justice, but the nature of human-anymal relations is rooted in power and partiality. Impartiality is jeopardized if ethical theory is applied with a vested interest. For instance, if three people have a vested interest in an inheritance, and one of the three is the judge determining who ought to receive the inheritance, justice is at risk. Similarly, if the judge in

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a particular case is engaged to be married to a man who is on trial for theft, justice is at risk. Vested interests, emotional attachment, and close affinity threaten impartiality. When one is in charge of making decisions that affect others, an emotional attachment to only one (or a portion) of those affected puts justice at risk. This is not to suggest that emotional attachment or close affinity are vices—rather, they are virtues. In contrast, complete emotional detachment is a vice, as evidenced by psychopaths, who are a danger to animals (including humans). Emotional attachment need not cause bias in all situations, though such an effect is highly likely. Human beings, who create moral guidelines for human interactions with anymals, have vested interests, including an emotional attachment to themselves and to others of their kind. Human beings have a particular relationship with the human species over and against all other species, and are likely to have a vested interest in human life. It is not possible for Homo sapiens to move outside of this position of bias—it is inherent. However, in the interest of promoting justice, we must strive to be impartial in spite of our vested interests and personal connections. Since we are inherently biased, we must be wary of human assessments of other species, especially assessments that elevate our own ethical standing. We must critically examine the means we use to reach conclusions and regard moral assessments that favor humans as inherently suspicious. There are scores of examples of biased assessments of other species. Our first attempt to teach chimpanzees to speak is an example. Scientists concluded that chimps did not have linguistic ability, that they lacked the cognitive mechanisms necessary for all but the most basic forms of communication. Noted scholars concluded that speech is the exclusive realm of human beings, a defining characteristic shared by no other animal—and an important element in assessing moral status. It has since been discovered that chimps lack the physiology for verbal speech, but communicate effectively—beyond basic communication—via sign language. We are now finding that anymals, such as whales, apes, dolphins, and vervet monkeys, have complex forms of communication (M. S. Dawkins 23–24, Warren 53). [Vervet] monkeys are able to pick up subtleties in their grunts that completely escape the human ear. To a human, a grunt is a grunt is a grunt. It takes technological aids in the form of tape recorders and sound spectrograph to show that, as far as the monkeys are concerned,

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there is far more to it than that. . . . We still do not fully understand what it is that the monkeys are responding to or exactly how they manage to detect the differences between the grunts. But do it they clearly do, and they leave their human observers slightly baffled. (M. S. Dawkins 23–24)

Human investigations into anymal language appear to have carried an unspoken motive: “For a variety of economic, religious, or other ideological reasons, it has been important to many people to insist on an unbridgeable gulf between humans and animals, and language has seemed the most promising instrument for achieving this” (Dupre 331). Few contemporary ethicists consider language a necessary condition for moral standing; such an assessment is now broadly recognized as a form of humanocentrism (Orlans 150). Similar to human investigations into language, human understandings of pain, intelligence, communication, thought, community, learning ability, and ethics necessarily stem from a narrow perspective, one gained from an inner understanding of these attributes as parts of our lives. Rene Descartes (1596–1650) is perhaps the best-known example of a human being incapable of fairly assessing anymals. He concluded that other species could neither think nor feel (Descartes 115). Sadly, while Descartes is a particularly flagrant example, he has not proven to be an exception to the rule: humans have concocted a plethora of tests to assess the intelligence, ethical tendencies, and sensitivities of anymals, with the hope and expectation of further exemplifying the special and preferable nature of human beings. Ongoing “scientific” assessments of anymals say more about the nature of science—and about human nature—than they do about anymals. Valuing one species over another is not consistent with scientific information. Darwin provides no hierarchy in the evolutionary continuum, no progression toward perfection, yet even in this “scientific” age, long after Darwin’s discoveries, people continue to believe that human beings are the most “advanced.” Concurrently, we believe that we are the most worthy of moral consideration. But why should we believe that we are radically different from anymals? All animals exhibit adaptive behavior and have similar central nervous systems— we are all sentient. Animals, both Scandinavians and cocker spaniels, exhibit emotional responses and associate with one another in closeknit groups. If anymals fall short of our expectation, then we should avow that people do, too.

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chapter one [A]ny reason we have to doubt the existence of the minds of animals also gives us reason to doubt the existence of the minds of other humans. We are faced with a choice between attributing mental states to animals and solipsism or skepticism concerning other minds generally. As most of us are quite ready to accept that other human beings have minds, then we should accept that animals too have minds. The brains of all multicellular animals, including human beings, are made of the same matter. The fundamental characteristics of neurons and synapses are roughly the same. . . . [T]he brains of small whales, dolphins and porpoises are close in size to those of human beings, both absolutely and in relation to size of body. . . . the general truth that animal brains are anatomically similar to our own must be accepted. And this gives us reason for believing that the mental events that take place ‘within’ them are in some degree similar to those which occur in our own brains. (Crisp, “Evolution” 310–12)

More specifically, Dawkins argues that “we now know that these three attributes—complexity, thinking and minding about the world— are also present in other species. The conclusion that they, too, are consciously aware is therefore compelling” (M. S. Dawkins 177). Contemporary science reveals that human beings are not distinct from anymals in any morally relevant way, leading to the important and inescapable conclusion that “behavioral and emotional kinship with nonhuman animals” indicates “moral kinship as well” (Bekoff 360). Methods of assessing cognition and cognitive abilities lack dependability even among human beings. It is difficult to grasp how people might come to understand the diverse abilities and interests, psychological tendencies, and mental capabilities of even one other human. How much more difficult, then, is it for them to understand and appreciate the minds and feelings of anymals? The epistemological difficulties inherent in human assessments of anymals must remain at the center of any discussion of other species and ought to temper any conclusions we reach. Because we have proven partial, and because we remain inherently partial to our own species, human studies of anymals cannot reasonably be assumed to be adequately grounded to justify moral conclusions. The force and prevalence of speciesism among humans is foreshadowed by the history of human partiality across the categories of race, sex, age, and sexual orientation. The assumption that all human beings have moral standing is a recent development. Romans “did not include in their moral community criminals, captives, foreigners, or nonhumans” (Marshal 80). When Europeans arrived in North

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America, they destroyed most of the inhabitants. Only recently has the United States legally granted African Americans equal moral consideration. Around the world, women have been (and are) denied equal moral consideration alongside men. In light of a demonstrated human tendency for those in power to be partial and unjust in assessing the moral standing of other human beings (particularly when the assessor has a vested interest), disparaging assessments of anymals is not surprising. Another example of human partiality and hubris relates directly to ethics. Humans have long assumed that only the human animal has a system of ethics. In spite of modern science and the similarities that we now know to exist among species, many still assume, without reference to empirical evidence, that only human beings are ethical animals. Since ethics is the subject of this book, we should consider whether or not ethics is exclusively the domain of human beings, or whether it is a more broad and biological phenomenon of the animal world (including humans). A minimal definition of ethics entails a system of behavioral norms that generate expectations of behavior and punish deviance. Anymals appear to comply with social expectations and to suffer social punishments for infringements. For instance, the vampire bat displays “animal decision-making . . . what looks like a system of morality based on the principle of reciprocation of favours given in the past, coupled with sanctions against those that do not live up to their obligations” (M. S. Dawkins 57). Based on observations, the same might be true of nonhuman primates, canines, equines, felines, insects, and perhaps a host of lesser observed anymals (“Inside”). In the likely event that ethical systems are not exclusively human, two interesting possibilities arise: • Ethics, including human ethics, might be genetically encoded. • Human ethics are but one of many ethical systems in the animal world. If the first point is true, then what is esteemed as human ethics may be merely biology in action. E. O. Wilson argues that “moral sentiments” might be better described as “moral instincts.” If we are to understand “deep springs of ethical behavior,” he argues that we must consider the “development of moral sentiments as products of the interactions of genes and the environment” (64). This argument makes moral behavior a genetic predisposition resulting from natural

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selection, rather than a metaphysical truth to be discovered (E. O. Wilson 58–59). E. O. Wilson concludes that ethics are “far more a product of autonomous evolution than has hitherto been conceded” (70). While it might prove difficult to explain all of human ethics through biological analysis, Wilson’s perspective heightens awareness of human beings as animals, not so very different from anymals. If ethics have a biological component, it would not be surprising that our morality is partial, favoring us and our own. Evolution suggests that if human beings are moral animals by nature, as has been supposed, other species are also likely to be genetically wired with an ethical code, or with a tendency to have moral standards that permit groups of individuals to function and prosper in communities. If this is the case, if other species have and practice their own forms of morality, philosophers working in ethics have a much broader field to explore than has generally been assumed. Human morality is specifically the endeavor of human beings, but since anymals are also ethical agents in their communities, it is important that we strive to move outside of our narrow, human perspective of ethics to comprehend a larger moral sphere. Like the judge with a vested interest, we cannot maintain impartiality, or adequately assess ethical principles and ethical theories, unless we are able to envisage morality from something of an “outsider’s” viewpoint. (This does not indicate that other animals, as moral agents in their own communities, are responsible for righting the wrongs that human beings cause. We are the animals causing untold suffering and death to other species. We are the animals who have an ethic that speaks of the importance of consistency and fail to deliver. We need to critically examine our morality and how we behave, and then change our actions to coincide with ideals like consistency, justice, and compassion.) Do genetically encoded morals justify speciesism? History suggests that morality changes over time, and this may be related to evolution. Our ongoing effort to foster a more inclusive morality indicates that partiality need not be a permanent part of our genetic code for moral behavior. If it were, then racism, sexism, ageism, and heterosexism would be equally biological, and we could not expect to make any moral progress toward a more impartial ethic. History reveals that this is not the case. Inherent difficulties, epistemological and personal, indicate that sound ethical theories are not likely to stem from common human assumptions or standard human comparisons of themselves with any-

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mals. We must be diligent if we are to be impartial. Moral philosophers must carefully examine all assumptions and conclusions suggesting that attributes are exclusively human, especially if people link such an attribute to moral standing. It would be wise, given our partiality, to assume that basic interests across species are the same unless proven otherwise. Animals of every species maintain and protect their physical existence. Even a bacterium, the simplest life form, responds to its surroundings “to preserve and protect its form” (Margulis 13, 50). Evelyn Pluhar comments: Beings who are neurologically highly similar to me, who respond in complex, relative ways to stimuli that elicit similar responses in me, are probably conscious just as I am. This is an extraordinarily strong inductive argument, fulfilling all criteria for good two-case analogical reasoning, licensing one to infer that another, be the other human or nonhuman, is not merely a cleverly contrived “machine.” Those who are skeptical about induction as such are, of course, not persuaded by the argument, but they also cannot be persuaded about the existence of their own bodies, let alone anyone else’s. Short of solipsism, one seems not to be irrational in putting one’s confidence in the argument from analogy. (13)

Impartiality requires us to look anew at anymals. There are at least four reasons for assuming that anymals have the same basic interests as human beings. Such an assumption • avoids inherent epistemological difficulties of assessing cognitive or emotional states external to ourselves; • maintains consistency, granting anymals that which we grant other human beings but cannot prove to be true; • avoids partiality and bias, common flaws of assessments between species; • is consistent with science (shared biology), which indicates that basic interests among living entities are fundamentally the same; • is consistent with ethology, which also indicates that basic interests among living entities are fundamentally the same. In the absence of any established morally relevant distinction between all human beings and anymals, the burden of justifying different moral guidelines for different species lies with those who posit such distinctions. Partiality has proven a dangerous stumbling block in shaping human morality. It is critical that we learn from history and not repeat the

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offenses of our past. For instance, in the Southern United States two hundred years ago, immigrants from Europe developed and enforced an ethical code that held only their kind to be morally considerable: “Caucasians” were more powerful and passed laws that deprived African immigrants to the United States of basic rights that we freely granted to immigrants from Europe. Though just one species among many, humans are no less powerful with regard to anymals than Caucasians were in North America in relation to African immigrants two hundred years ago. Then, decisions were made that hurt those of African descent, but were to the advantage of Caucasians. Today humans make decisions that affect blue-footed boobies and black-tailed deer—and the world in its entirety—because these decisions seem to be to the advantage of humans. But as history suggests, a biased, self-aggrandizing ethic is not to anyone’s advantage, and neither can such an ethic establish or demonstrate human superiority—on the contrary. Most current citizens of the United States share a sense of shame at the human moral shortcomings associated with the slavery of Africans. However, powerful slave owners had much to gain financially by assuming that blacks were ethically irrelevant. Today the same is true of the human attitude toward and relationship with anymals. If we are to fairly assess our ethical obligations with respect to anymals, we must move beyond our narrow circle of personal, vested interests. We have assumed that we are the only ethical animals, yet in relation to anymals our “ethic” translates into little more than “might makes right.” Bernard Rollin writes: [W]hy does intelligence score highest? Ultimately, perhaps, because intelligence allows us to control, vanquish, dominate, and destroy all other creatures. If this is the case, it is power that puts us on top of the pyramid. But if power provides grounds for including or excluding creatures from the scope of moral concern, we have essentially accepted the legitimacy of the thesis that “might makes right” and have, in a real sense, done away with all morality altogether. If we do accept this thesis, we cannot avoid extending it to people as well, and it thus becomes perfectly moral for Nazis to exterminate the Jews, muggers to prey on old people, the majority to oppress the minority, and the government to do as it sees fit to any of us. Furthermore, as has often been pointed out, it follows from this claim that if an extraterrestrial alien civilization were intellectually, technologically, and militarily superior to us, it would be perfectly justified in enslaving or eating or exterminating human beings. (8)

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On the other hand, intelligence may also be a benefit. We can use our intelligence to subjugate others or to establish a consistent morality. Western moral theories are capable of inspiring compassion. Our intelligence may help us to apply our complex moral outlook across species. Chapter 8 attempts the daunting task of presenting an impartial moral theory. This chapter offers an ethic in which humans are equal members in a menagerie of morally considerable animals. This is a morality in which might does not make right, and in which the value of life does not change according to species, race, or sex. For the sake of impartiality, a central moral tenet, we must rigorously question “morally relevant differences” assumed to exist between humans and anymals. We should rather assume sameness because we are all animals, evolved from common ancestors, and because morality requires that we strive for impartiality. Where no morally relevant distinction can be demonstrated, we ought to extend our ethical code to include other creatures. Method 7. Casuistry Casuistry is central to this text; it is a method used by moral philosophers whereby a specific instance is compared with rulings in other similar cases to reach a comparable and therefore presumably just verdict. Casuistry entails reflection on a given problem in light of relevant accepted maxims and similar cases from the past, with intent to reach an informed moral judgment regarding a given problem ( Jonsen 1991). The word “casuistry” comes from the Latin casus, which means “case.” Casuistry is the study of cases, a process of resolving specific moral problems by applying general principles of ethics, religion, or moral philosophy. Casuistry usually requires the assessment of specific details, such as the degree of guilt or measure of responsibility. These are determined by weighing the specific circumstances of a given case. Motive and consent are often critical (Runes 46). In turn, that particular scenario becomes part of a case history, which sets a precedent by which future moral judgments might be made in similar cases. Casuistry is important to moral philosophy, and to this book, for at least four reasons: Casuistry

48 • • • •

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focuses on particular circumstances in specific situations, depends on like cases being treated in a like manner, holds both motive and consent to be important considerations, and entails an informed moral judgment.

First, casuistry avoids abstractions that may plague moral theory and analytical philosophy; casuistry acknowledges the importance of the individual case. “Casuists are skeptical of principles, rules, rights, and theory divorced from history, circumstance, and experience. One can make successful moral judgments . . . casuists say, only when one has an intimate understanding of particular situations and an appreciation of the record of similar situations” (Orlans 43). In simple terms, rules like “do not shove or push” cannot adequately guide morality. If someone is drowning, and a passerby swims in and pushes that individual toward the shore, has the passerby done wrong by pushing? The passerby may have broken a moral rule (“do not shove”) but they have not done wrong. Similarly, other moral maxims do not apply in all instances. This is why casuists believe that the specific instance is critical to any moral assessment. Second, casuistry assumes the principle of equality, whereby comparable instances are treated in a comparable manner, and the principle of universality, whereby a decision made in one instance will hold for all comparable cases (Buning 20). All things being equal, a case of theft ought to be treated like another case of theft. One who steals an ear of corn ought to be treated the same as one who steals an eggplant, all things being equal. Casuists reason from one particular case to another case that is similar in morally relevant ways; previous cases set a precedent by which similar cases will be judged in the future. “The casuistic method is to start with cases whose moral features and conclusions have already been decided, and then to compare the salient features in the paradigm case (that is, the case with morally settled dimensions) with the features of cases in need of a decision” (Orlans 43). However, the qualification, “all things being equal” often doesn’t hold, which leads to the third element of casuistry noted above: motive and consent are critical. One often-cited philosophical conundrum is the thief who steals food to feed the starving. Let us assume that the one who steals the ear of corn does so simply because she does not want to pay for her food. In contrast, the one who steals the eggplant does so to feed her starving husband (who is ill and incapacitated) because she is too poor to buy food. Casuistry acknowl-

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edges a morally relevant distinction between a thief who steals out of indifference or for self-gain, and one who steals for a higher ideal (in the hope of preserving life). No one argues with the importance of the general maxim “stealing is immoral,” but casuistry acknowledges the importance of circumstances, motive, and intent for assessing the morality of individual acts. Finally, casuistry entails an informed moral judgment. Casuistry is not about majority opinion or common practices being written into legal codes. Casuistry is a rigorous process of examining actual problems in specific instances, in light of relevant moral theory and other similar cases that have been previously examined, in order to reach an informed moral judgment on that particular situation. Casuistry is critical to this text because this text compares morality between human beings with morality across species. Since there are no adequately established morally relevant distinctions between all human beings and anymals, casuistry is an effective tool for making moral assessments of situations involving animals of different species. We have a wealth of cases involving interactions among human beings that can assist us in knowing what we ought to do with regard to an oryx or echidna. Term 8. Living Entity For the purposes of this book, all species of animals and plants are to be regarded as living entities (or life-forms). Cells qualify, though viruses do not. “Nature,” Aristotle observes, “proceeds little by little from things lifeless to animal life in such a way that it is impossible to determine the exact line of demarcation” (Margulis 26). The Russian scientist Vladimir Ivanovich Vernadsky refers to life as “living matter.” What exactly is life? If we are to respect life, protect life, or cherish life, we need to have some notion of what constitutes life. “Living entities are best understood as ongoing processes of a certain sort” (L. Johnson 205). Life is “less a thing and more a happening, a process; . . . even the simplest life form respond[s] to its surroundings to preserve and protect its form” (Margulis 45, 50). A living entity strives to maintain its existence as the type of entity that it is. Even the simplest living beings have complex regulatory, that is cybernetic, systems that maintain the being within an acceptable range of state of being. In the face of widely varying environmental conditions,

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chapter one its temperature, states of internal organs, biochemical states, and so on, are maintained in a harmoniously balanced fashion. This is not to say that the status quo is maintained . . . The center of homeostasis is not a specific condition of the entity but a whole range around which its life processes oscillate . . . Acorns grow to be oaks . . . The maintaining of an adequate balance has been given the name homeostasis. (L. Johnson 203–04)

In short, entities that are alive, commonly called organisms, exhibit growth by metabolizing, reproducing, and adapting to the environment via internal change. By this definition, animals, plants, fungus, protistans, and monerans (bacteria, pathogens, and blue-green algae) are all living entities. Viruses, in contrast, do not self-maintain or metabolize and therefore do not fit this definition of a living organism. Viruses, smaller than cells, “come to life” when they enter another living organism, but “lack sufficient genes and proteins to maintain themselves” (Margulis 23–24). Yet even the smallest cells, those of the tiniest bacteria, are selfmaintaining entities, and thereby qualify as living entities (Margulis 23–24). Term 9. Western Morality/Ethics The terms “Western morality,” and “Western ethics,” are used with the knowledge that there is not one comprehensive Western ethic; these terms refer to commonly accepted moral standards shared by the vast majority of people living according to European and North American cultural traditions. While there is not a single Western ethic, there are moral tendencies in the West, many of which are backed by laws. As previously stated, the morality of the majority is not a dependable indicator of what we ought, or ought not, to do. However, these moral trends (majority convictions) do indicate our generally accepted morality. Western morality accepts and perpetuates a discrepancy between the treatment of human life and the treatment of anymals. We in the West generally protect and preserve human life. This is evidenced not just by how we speak of human life (including what our schools and religious institutions teach), but by how we live and by our legal system. It is not lawful for a person to destroy human life except under desperate conditions. If someone is in the act of stealing our

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car, we are not legally permitted to attack them with a knife or shoot them with a gun to reclaim our property. It is not legal to destroy the life of the robber to preserve personal wealth. Only if an individual is assaulted—unjustifiably physically threatened by another— does that person have a right to self-defense—and defense must be proportional; if the person stops attacking, then the one initially assaulted must also stop. We are legally permitted to do bodily harm to other human beings only to protect our own lives. Otherwise, harming other human beings is unjustified, even if they are thieves or drug dealers selling narcotics to our dependents. This law reflects the general Western tendency to hold human life in high regard— high above our regard for property. In many ways, current Western law holds the preservation of human life above the protection and preservation of general law and order. Controversial issues such as capital punishment and abortion reflect tension over situations that may challenge our general insistence on the importance of preserving the lives of citizens. Most Western countries have abolished the death penalty, but this practice is alive and well in the United States. Abortion, killing a handful of cells that could potentially become a human being, remains a divisive issue in many Western countries. In contrast, Western ethics do not protect the lives of anymals. U.S. laws reflect this moral outlook: anymals are property. It is illegal to kill Myshkin, a beautiful black mutt, because Myshkin is your neighbor’s property, not because her life is considered to be of value; the lives of anymals are generally not protected in Western countries. In fact, we can kill them for just about any purpose we choose, if they are ours. It is morally and legally permissible to kill shorthorn cattle and tabby cats at will. All types of fish can be tortured for human pleasure; what is catch and release if not a form of torture for human amusement? Actions and laws in the West reveal strong moral views with regard to humans as opposed to anymals. The terms “Western ethics” and “Western morality,” do not assume that the West has only one morality, but that there are overarching, identifiable tendencies among the vast majority of the population, and it is to these dominant moral trends that I refer.

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chapter one Method 8. Interdisciplinary

Morality is determined by factors from different scholarly disciplines; therefore this book is interdisciplinary, including such topics as biology and theology, ethology and economics. Human endeavors are rooted in human “knowledge”; our understanding of the world is relevant to how we think and how we behave. Consequently, applied philosophy requires that we combine “facts” from various other disciplines with philosophical speculation in our quest for the best course of action. Applied philosophy asks, “Given our understanding of the world around us, what ought we to do?” Most modern philosophers agree that one cannot simply derive an “ought” from an “is.” Nonetheless, there is a general consensus that certain “facts,” bits of information gathered via empirical evidence, help determine the best course of action. For instance, if biology indicates that spotted-tailed quolls are capable of suffering, and moral theory suggests that to cause needless suffering is morally abhorrent, then we ought not to cause spotted-tailed quolls to suffer without legitimate cause. However, if science indicates that the spotted-tailed quoll is incapable of suffering, then ethical teachings on the matter of suffering are irrelevant to the spotted-tailed quoll. In some ways, biology is critical to morality, particularly in protectionist philosophy. Academic disciplines do not exist in a vacuum. The moral dilemma entailed in patenting farmed animals will be decided in light of such diverse disciplines as genetic engineering, theology, law, morality, biology, and economics (Orlans 100). Experts in each of these fields of study are critical to reaching a reasonable conclusion on this moral conundrum. Similarly, the conditions in factory farms, and what actually goes on in laboratories, are important for determining whether or not we ought to eat flesh or permit anymal experimentation. One need not be a specialist to decipher many of the relevant “facts” entailed in drawing moral conclusions. For instance, if we know that an infant is cold, and that the child’s guardian is nearby, most of us will conclude that the guardian ought to warm the child. Similarly, if someone were stuck in quicksand, and several bystanders observed the individual sinking, most people would agree that because we value human life, those nearby ought to free the sinking victim. Additional facts may alter these conclusions. For example, if the one stuck in the mud was not in danger of death and was an escaped

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convict—one known to kill—perhaps this evidence better indicates that if we value life we ought to leave the convict stuck in the mud until authorities arrive. While facts alone cannot reveal answers to moral dilemmas, they play an important role in determining what we ought to do. (“Facts” often constitute minor premises for ethical discourse while the philosophy of ethics provides major premises. Both are important.) Effective moral determinations coincide with general understanding. If moral principles are not aligned with how we perceive the world around us, they may seem irrelevant or even dangerous, and such principles are unlikely to be honored. Therefore, if applied ethics is to be effective, it is imperative that theories and principles be rooted in relevant information from a variety of fields of study, and that this information is available to the general public. For instance, if the general public is to accept that people ought to avoid smoking, then relevant information about health and economics, for example, should be made readily available to the public. This has in fact happened in the last thirty years. The West turned against smoking and embarked on a campaign to educate the public in order to align what people believe to be true with what they ought to be doing— smoking is in fact deadly, and so we should not smoke. In contrast, flesh eating is still widely accepted in this country because people are given information about nutrition, the farming life, and anymal care that support this moral outlook. But like smoking forty years ago, the facts we are being fed are not consistent with dietary reality; in this case, what people generally believe about mozzarella and hot dogs, and what is true, are very different matters. Information from various fields is critical both to determine and to support any given moral outlook, but incorrect information can be misleading. Diligence in exploring and incorporating information from outside the field of ethics is critical to sound morality. A host of disciplines shape individual worldviews. Worldviews are “an ever-changing complex of beliefs, values, feelings, desires, and expectations that affect the way a person sees the world and how that person feels about things in the world” (Marietta 8). Our worldview is central to who we are and helps us determine how we ought to behave. Worldviews “work behind the scenes,” supporting a given point of view or attitude, even though most of us are unaware of our own worldview (Marietta 8). How often do we say to ourselves, “Human life is of extreme value in my worldview, but not all world-

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views are like this.” Most of us expect to have partners, but do we ever see this as part of a worldview? Do we ever think to ourselves, “In my worldview having a partner is essential, but in other worldviews it is not”? Do we muse to ourselves, “I wash my hair almost every day but people in other lands rarely wash their hair”? Unstated worldviews that guide human actions are critical to morality—to what is commonly accepted in any given community. Moral norms depend on such a “cognitive context,” and behavior reflects our worldview (Callicott, “Environmental” 25). Our worldview is like the air we breathe: we are surrounded by air, and dependent on air, but seldom notice this ever-present aspect of our environment. Among entrenched moral beliefs that are supported by vast and unstated worldviews, the general trend against protectionism is no exception. In Western societies “deeply entrenched traditions support the notion that animal welfare must bow to the best interests of humans” (Lauerman 49). Many disciplines have contributed to shaping our worldviews and our morality; we must examine each of these disciplines to properly assess contemporary ethical norms. A philosophical examination of ethics and anymals is likely to include information collected by zoologists, biologists, ethologists, and sociologists. We must know something about what anymals are like if we are to explore our ethical obligations toward other species. Moral philosophers need to collect morally relevant details about anymals before making ethical determinations. For instance, do Jersey calves have a biology that indicates that they can suffer? Do they behave as though they are suffering when kept in small crates and deprived of iron on veal farms? Ought we to continue to raise calves in this manner? Each moral determination is best supported by expertise from other disciplines, in this case biology and ethology. Regan and Taylor discuss rights theory, a discipline most commonly linked with the social sciences. Each discusses anymal biology; their respective theories depend on ethological studies. In contrast, Linzey’s theory is largely dependent on interpreting sacred literature. While our biological existence is generally in evidence in Western, scienceoriented cultures, spirituality has become tangential, even irrelevant. But for many people, faith and scripture are still critical, as they have been for hundreds of years. “Our attitudes toward nature and other animals are deeply conditioned by beliefs about our nature and destiny—that is, by religion” (L. White 23).

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Ethics and religion are inextricably linked. For centuries Christianity has influenced moral philosophy, while “religion arose on a foundation of ethics” (E. O. Wilson 65). For many Christians and Jews, the Hebrew Scriptures and/or New Testament determine many personal moral obligations. For a person of faith, scriptures are often the most important factor in shaping morality. While many contemporary Westerners do not practice any particular religion, Western culture and beliefs are rooted in Christian history and practice. Religious traditions are important to contemporary morality, worldviews, and law—even in secular societies, whether or not the majority of individuals believe in divine forces. A thorough assessment of moral practices entails an investigation of deep-rooted, historic beliefs based on traditional religious teachings. It is not surprising, then, that one of the protectionist scholars examined in this text is a theologian, Andrew Linzey. Linzey’s theory offers metaphysical (spiritual) support for a comprehensive environmental ethic, an ethic in which all of creation is treated with self-sacrificing service out of respect for the intentions of a divine creator. We determine “facts” about the world around us, for better or for worse, through mathematics, science, scripture, art, faith, and our senses. Each is important in determining how we understand and interact with the larger world; each is important to any human understanding of what we ought to do. No single field of study, no individual factor, determines what we ought to do. Mathematics, scripture, science, and our senses each aid us in the philosophic process behind applied moral philosophy. We determine what we ought to do, at least in part, by sifting through relevant information from many different disciplines. For this reason this book includes not only philosophy, but information from several disciplines. Final Note Although a critical analysis is provided for the most well-known and well-respected protectionist theories available, this book attests to and affirms the value of the contributions of these scholars to the ongoing philosophical quest for a more consistent, compassionate morality. It is infinitely easier to find fault with the theories of others than it is to develop a theory of one’s own.

PART TWO

PHILOSOPHICAL PROTECTIONIST THEORIES

CHAPTER TWO

TOM REGAN: THE RIGHTS VIEW

A. Regan’s Rights View Regan began as an advocate for human rights. He turned his philosophical purposes to investigating rights in the hope of understanding— and being able to explain—why it was morally unacceptable to draft young men to fight in Viet Nam. He wondered about the nature of rights and how human rights might defend young men from being drafted. Toward this end he read the works of Gandhi (Regan, Empty 29). Gandhi’s nonviolence did not protect only the human species. Like many Hindus, Gandhi revered life—all life—and was a vegetarian. Gandhi’s voice compelled Regan to ask, “Why would only human beings have rights?” (Regan, Animal 3–5). Between the killing and dying in Viet Nam, and a vegetarian Hindu, Regan not only developed a moral grounding in human rights, but soon proposed the first comprehensive philosophical theory of anymal rights. In The Case for Animal Rights, Regan explained the “Rights View” in which certain animals have basic rights that ought to be taken into consideration. Regan asserts that normal mammals aged one year or more have what he calls “a welfare,” which is necessary for anymals to be considered “subjects-of-a-life” (which we return to shortly). Animals, human or otherwise, that qualify as subjects-of-alife, have equal inherent value in Regan’s theory. Regan outlines several well-respected philosophical guidelines for assessing moral theories, such as consistency, impartiality, and conformity with reflective intuitions, which he uses to test his Rights View (Case 190). Regan avoids speciesism in its most flagrant forms by identifying and discussing moral agents, moral patients, and subjects-of-a-life. Through these creative and well-thought-out distinctions Regan avoids typical speciesist divisions, and incorporates a range of morally relevant characteristics across species.

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1. Equal Inherent Value a. The Cup Itself Regan rests his theory on the inherent value of specified individuals. In the Rights View inherent value is not based on experiences, aptitude, or any other acquired or innate characteristic. Regan uses the analogy of a cup to illustrate his point: Like a cup filled with various items, the cup itself is what matters, not the contents. If an individual is of value, Regan postulates, she is of value in and of herself—she is both the source and the locus of that value. To have inherent value one need only be a cup (Case 236–37). Inherent value is not dependent on what others prefer, or on any particular qualities possessed. Inherent value can neither be earned nor lost. Regan argues that if the contents of the cup—aptitude or experiences—are what offer value, that entity becomes a “mere receptacle” for those qualities. When humans are viewed as empty cups with valuable ingredients, such as “virtues” or talents, then those who are more gifted, or more active, have comparatively higher value. Regan denounces this “perfectionist” approach (Case 233). b. Perfectionism Regan rejects perfectionism, a method of assessing the value of an individual (Case 235–36). Perfectionism assigns various degrees of inherent value based on acquired or biological attributes. Regan cites racism and sexism as examples of perfectionism. Valuing athletes over businessfolk also qualifies as perfectionism. Regan concludes that inherent value must be based on the cup itself (the individual), and not on the items inside the cup (such as aptitude, skin color, experience, length of toes, income, education, etc.) c. Equality of Inherent Value Regan asserts that among those individuals that have inherent value, they all have inherent value equally. There can be no entity that is more or less inherently valuable than another. Degrees of inherent value are perfectionist. Such moral ranking leads to elitist attitudes such as those of slave owners or members of the Ku Klux Klan. d. Moral Intuition Regan rejects both levels of inherent value and perfectionism based on moral intuition, which we turn to in short order.

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2. Welfare Regan argues that certain individuals have welfare: they fare well or ill depending on how their interests are benefited or harmed during the course of their lives. In the Rights View, all animals (normal mammals aged one year or more—including people) have a “welfare.” Regan agrees that humans have more numerous and varied possibilities than anymals, but [b]oth animals and humans have preference- and welfare-interests, some biological, some psychological, some social; both may be benefited or harmed and, if the latter, harmed either because of what they are made to experience (harms as inflictions) or because of what they are denied (harms as deprivations); both have lives that are characterized by pleasure or pain, satisfaction or frustration; and the overall tone or quality of the life of each, to a greater or lesser degree, is a function of the harmonious satisfaction of those preferences that it is in the interests of each to have satisfied. (Case 119)

a. Psychophysical Identity Regan explains that animals with a welfare (which includes humans) have a “psychophysical identity.” By this he means that normal mammals aged one year or older have desires, beliefs, and the ability to act; they have “preference autonomy” (Case 116). b. Preference Autonomy Preference autonomy entails wants, desires, and preferences that an individual strives to fulfill. Regan offers examples of preference autonomy in dogs. A dog will choose between different types of food, or between various activities, selecting the option that best satisfies her wants (Case 85). Dogs also avoid what they do not prefer. For instance, Regan would probably agree that a dog, if presented with both a rolled up newspaper used for punishment and a leash used for dog walks, would most likely move away from the paper roll and toward the leash. The newspaper roll elicits dog behavior indicative of avoidance and displeasure, such as cowing or slinking; the leash is greeted with enthusiasm in the form of tail wagging and joyous bounding. The dog’s actions demonstrate a preference for the leash, distaste for the rolled-up paper; predictably, the dog would rather go for a walk than be punished. Dogs demonstrate their belief that the leash will satisfy wants, whereas the newspaper will not. Objects (such as a leash) cause a reaction that most people can readily identify as joy

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or unhappiness, satisfied wants or thwarted desires. In this way dogs indicate their preferences, demonstrating “preference autonomy.” c. Benefits and Harms Welfare is determined by “benefits” and “harms” in the Rights View. In the above case the dog benefits by going for a walk if a walk satisfies her biological, social, and psychological interests, and if her interests are genuinely good for her. If there is no safe place for the dog to walk, then going for a walk is not in her best interest. Similarly, when a dog wants chocolate, when a child wants to stay up all night but has to go to school in the morning, or when a cat wants to play in the roadway, the animals’ interests are not genuinely good for them. Under Regan’s definition, if most of the time a dog is given what she prefers, and if what she prefers is good for her, she is living well. For an animal that has a welfare, Regan asserts: To live well is to have a life that is characterized by the harmonious satisfaction of one’s desires, purposes, and the like, taking account of one’s biological, social, and psychological interests. More generally, animals (including humans) live well relative to the degree to which (1) they pursue and obtain what they prefer, (2) they take satisfaction in pursuing and obtaining what they prefer, and (3) what they prefer and obtain is in their interests. (Case 117)

An animal (Homo sapiens) that is living well will display behavior indicative of pleasure and satisfaction. As mentioned above, harms can be either inflictions or deprivations (Case 94). The random, harsh use of the newspaper on a dog is an infliction of harm, while repeatedly neglecting to walk a dog is deprivation. In either case the dog’s welfare is diminished. Because deprivation constitutes harm, bringing about an untimely death is a harm in the Rights View. Death “forecloses all possibilities of finding satisfaction” (Case 100). Even a painless, purposeful death is a loss, and thereby a great harm to the deceased, if it is untimely. Death may be brought to a subject-of-a-life without constituting harm only if death is brought • by the least painful means available; • in the true belief that death is in the best interest of the one killed; and • out of genuine concern for the interests of the one to be killed (Case 119).

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In Regan’s view factors that constitute a good human life “over and above considerations of basic biological needs” have a counterpart in anymals (Case 90). Although Regan finds that the opportunities for satisfaction are more varied and numerous for human beings, anymals can be harmed in similar ways. The welfare of individuals from many species, whether they are harmed or benefited, carries important moral implications. Regan concludes that it is wrong for humans to do to anymals what they do not want done to themselves, and the immorality of such an act is not lessened “if our victims are non-rational, or not morally autonomous. What difference does it really make whether or not they have or could have a principled objection to our behavior? If they have no will in the matter I do not violate their will, but I clearly violate their wishes” (Animals 77). d. Moral Agents and Moral Patients Regan distinguishes between moral agents and moral patients. Moral agents are morally accountable for their actions and are therefore “justly and fairly held accountable for their deeds” (Case 152). In contrast, moral patients lack the ability to understand or execute moral behavior. Therefore moral patients cannot do right, nor can they do wrong (Case 152). A variety of animals, including human infants and imbeciles, fall into the moral-patient category. Regan notes that “normal adult humans are moral agents” (Case 152). Regan affirms that both moral patients and moral agents have inherent value. To grant inherent value only to moral agents would violate the basic philosophical principle of consistency and impartiality, which requires like cases to be treated in like manner (Case 190). Because inherent value is granted to moral agents (human beings) without regard for experiences or aptitudes, it would be inconsistent and arbitrary to exclude moral patients based on these same criteria: Morality will not tolerate the use of double standards when cases are relevantly similar. If we postulate inherent value in the case of moral agents and recognize the need to view their possession of it as being equal, then we will be rationally obliged to do the same in the case of moral patients. All who have inherent value thus have it equally, whether they be moral agents or moral patients. All animals are equal, when the notions of “animal” and “equality” are properly understood, “animal” referring to all (terrestrial, at least) moral agents and patients, and “equality” referring to their equal possession of inherent value. Inherent value is thus a categorical concept. One either has it, or one does not. . . . Moreover, all those who have it, have it equally. (Case 240)

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Both moral patients and moral agents have a welfare—both fare poorly or well depending on the fulfilment of interests; their welfare is harmed and benefited in similar ways during the course of their lives. Regan highlights this important similarity between anymals and humans—between moral patients and moral agents—as critical to morality (Case 84). Because they can be harmed in similar ways, impartiality and consistency require that both moral agents and moral patients be protected if either one is to be protected (Case 189). 3. Moral Standing Even if individuals cannot rationally articulate distaste for what is done to them, even if they cannot make moral decisions, entities with a welfare are morally considerable in the Rights View. Therefore, we are morally obligated to consider how a given action will impact any individuals that have a welfare—not just human beings (“Nature” 9). “We have a prima facie direct duty not to harm any relevantly similar individual who can be harmed” (Case 193–94). In the course of making decisions that might affect welfare, we must consider all entities with a welfare, all that might be affected. Morality requires that we assess the loss of each individual equitably if we are to honor “equal inherent value and the equal prima facie right not to be harmed” (Case 325). In Regan’s view, for the sake of consistency, all beings with a welfare ought to be taken into account if we are to consider any beings to be morally considerable because they have a welfare. To do otherwise is to go against long-established, basic philosophical guidelines for moral theories; to do otherwise is to be inconsistent and partial. a. Subject-of-a-Life At this point Regan has established that in the Rights View both moral patients and moral agents have a welfare, and that both therefore have equal inherent value (Case 239). But which individuals do not have inherent value? While both moral agents and moral patients are alive, Regan sees problems with accepting the mere presence of life as a criterion for inherent value: How can we have duties to “individual blades of grass, potatoes, or cancer cells . . . lawns, potato fields, or cancerous tumors?” (Case 241–42). Each of these has life, but do they have inherent value?

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Regan does not think so. He concludes that beings with inherent value must share some “relevant similarity between them that makes attributing inherent value to them intelligible and non-arbitrary” (Case 241). This criterion must not vary between individuals, “since that would allow their inherent value to vary accordingly” (Case 241). Regan postulates “subject-of-a-life” as the morally relevant similarity that grants an individual equal inherent value and moral standing: To be the subject-of-a-life is to be an individual whose life is characterized by . . . beliefs and desires; perception, memory, and a sense of the future, including their own future; an emotional life together with feelings of pleasure and pain; preference- and welfare-interests; the ability to initiate action in pursuit of their desires and goals; a psychophysical identity over time; and an individual welfare in the sense that their experiential life fares well or ill for them, logically independently of their utility for others and logically independently of their being the object of anyone else’s interests. Those who satisfy the subject-of-a-life criterion themselves have a distinctive kind of value—inherent value— and are not to be viewed or treated as mere receptacles. (Case 243)

Regan admits that there may be many who do not fit the subjectof-a-life criterion who ought to be acknowledged as having inherent value (such as newborn and severely retarded humans); such exclusions run against our reflective intuitions. Consequently, he suggests “subject-of-a-life” merely as a sufficient condition for equal inherent value, not as a necessary condition (Case 246). In the Rights View the scope of ethical protection is limited to “normal mammalian animals, aged one year or more” (Case 190), all of which he asserts are subjects-of-a-life. (When he refers to “animals,” this is the category to which he refers.) He justifies this particular division not because creatures that fall outside this category are logically excluded from having rights, but because he finds that the rights of those within this category can be clearly justified based on definable, morally relevant traits. 4. Respect Principle Gus diZerega writes that respect “is an antidote to expediency and ignorance. When respected, no being ever counts for nothing. Without respect for others, the powerful see everyone and everything as either servants and resources or as real or potential obstacles to exercising their power” (37). Regan’s “respect principle” grants equal respect to all those who have equal inherent value. Normal mammals aged one year or more are subjects-of-a-life and therefore have the moral

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right—or valid claim—to be treated with respect. The right of a subject-of-a-life not to be harmed is universal in the Rights View, which is to say that it is held by all “relevantly similar individuals” and can only be overridden by appeal to a valid moral principle (Case 327). In Regan’s Rights View the prima facie right not to be harmed, held by all subjects-of-a-life, carries a concurrent duty for human moral agents. Regan’s view might be summarized as follows: Subjectsof-a-life can be harmed, and are therefore due inherent respect, which forbids that they be treated as means to an end. Moral agents have a corresponding direct duty to respect the unacquired moral right not to be harmed that is held by all subjects-of-a-life, and to aid subjects-of-a-life whose basic right to respectful treatment is violated (Case 249). 5. Harm Principle Regan derives the “harm principle” from previously established concepts such as equal inherent value (Case 262–63). Individuals who have equal inherent value also have a welfare in Regan’s view and are due the prima facie right not to be harmed (Case 186–87). Regan’s “harm principle” demands that a subject-of-a-life never be treated merely as a means to an end; they are to be treated in ways that show respect for their inherent value. Moral agents have a duty to assist subjects-of-a-life if others fail to respect their inherent value (Case 249). The harm principle, a principle that sets forth a prima facie direct duty not to harm either moral agents or patients, can be derived from the respect principle . . . when we note that (1) those individuals who satisfy the subject-of-a-life criterion are individuals who are intelligibly and non-arbitrarily viewed as meriting respect because they are intelligibly and non-arbitrarily viewed as possessing inherent value, and that (2) as subjects-of-a-life, all have an experiential welfare. Prima facie, therefore, we fail to show respect for these individuals when we do anything that harms them. (Case 264–65)

6. Overriding Rights Regan identifies three principles by which a subject-of-a-life’s prima facie, unacquired right not to be harmed may be overridden.

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a. Miniride Principle The “miniride principle” (from “minimize overriding principle”) asserts that the rights of the few may be overridden for the rights of the many, all things being equal. For instance, if one miner is trapped in a shaft and will be killed if explosives are used to free fifty other miners (who are also trapped), the one ought to be killed if necessary to save the other fifty. Morality requires that we override a minimum of rights (Case 307); it is preferable to override only one individual’s right not to be harmed than to override the same right for fifty. b. Worse-Off Principle The “worse-off principle” allows the rights of the many to be overridden for the rights of the few if “the harm faced by the few would make them worse off than any of the many” (Case 328). It is morally preferable to cause many subjects-of-a-life to suffer lesser harms than to severely harm one subject-of-a-life (Case 308–09). For instance, in the above mining scenario, if blasting out the single miner could be avoided by digging a tunnel to access the other fifty—but they would have to go without food for several days—one ought to dig. The harm of prolonged hunger is a lesser harm for each of the fifty people than killing would be for the single individual in the adjacent shaft. c. Loss of Innocence Regan adds, “those who forge, as well as those who perpetuate injustice are not on the same moral footing as their innocent victims” (Case 323). Those who have sacrificed their “innocence” simultaneously lose their equal right not to be harmed. Retributive action is permissible. Regan extrapolates from the example of the fifty people trapped in the shaft to illustrate loss of innocence. If the fifty people had forced the single individual into the shaft “because they believed they might reap some benefits from his forced labor,” then the fifty have lost their claim to be protected by the application of the miniride principle, assuming all involved face prima facie comparable harm. Or, again, if the lone miner happened to be an orphaned, unloved, retarded slave, while the fifty were highly intelligent, loved, and respected slave-owners, the fifty would have no valid claim to the protection afforded by the worse-off principle, despite the greater prima facie harm death would be for each of them when compared to the harm death would be for the enslaved miner. (Case 323)

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Regan explains his allowance for loss of innocence: Without an exemption for those who have acted immorally, the miniride and “worseoff principle would allow the rights of those who perpetuate injustice to override the rights of their victims,” but “reflective intuition tells us that no account of justice and individual rights that allows this can be sound” (Case 323). Summary The Rights View considers normal mammals aged one year or more to be subjects-of-a-life; subjects-of-a-life have a welfare, which affords these individuals equal inherent value. Regan asserts that all subjectsof-a-life have the right not to be harmed based on the respect principle, which makes respect morally obligatory for those individuals that can be harmed in acknowledgment of their preference not to be harmed. Impartiality requires that all subjects-of-a-life, regardless of species, be granted the right to be protected from harm, except in extenuating circumstances. B. Discussion Regan’s methods and a couple of important terms require closer scrutiny, and it is also necessary to explore possible undesirable consequences of the Rights View. 1. Methods a. Moral Intuition Regan includes moral intuition in his philosophy tool bag. Moral intuition is not to be confused with intuition in its more general usage as a “hunch,” or some such vague inner feeling. Moral intuition in the philosophical sense refers to those principles taken to be universal moral truths, such as “do not steal,” and “do not murder.” Regan uses a very qualified intuition. Even so, if appeal to intuition is to be a test for the truth . . . of a proposed moral principle, then it is a test such that two mutually contradictory proposed moral principles could each pass it. . . . It’s the test that is shown insufficient by this possibility. . . . [O]nce we allow that people of good will and judgment can both be wrong, we have admitted that appeals to good will aren’t enough, if what we are looking for is the truth. (Narveson, “On a Case” 34)

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Regan indicates that certain actions are consistent with his moral intuition (for instance, “special considerations,” as discussed in the final section of this chapter), but those same acts are not consistent with my moral intuition. If we are seeking one conclusive determination, moral intuition fails. In fact, moral intuition has helped human beings support a status quo that seems highly immoral by today’s ethical standards. For instance, it was once the common moral intuition that a man ought to be head of a house, the one obliged to make important decisions for the entire family, while the woman was expected to comply with and accommodate her husband’s decisions. Common moral intuition once held (and for some still holds) that people of other faiths ought to be systematically brought into the Christian fold. While moral intuition in India once indicated that caste ought to be respected and protected, the Western world was shocked by such categorization of human beings. Although much of the Western world feels that women ought to cover their breasts in public, many people do not accept that there is anything in particular that is secretive or private about breasts. Some cultures, for instance those of African nations, do not expect women to cover their breasts. Moral intuition is not always dependable and is also subject to change. [T]the radical subordination of certain human interests (those of “natural slaves”) seemed intuitively innocent and natural to Aristotle, and, as J. S. Mill noted in The Subjection of Women, it is a standard mark of a deeply held prejudice that it seems perfectly natural to the one who holds it. There is always the danger of accepting only those principles which are compatible with our prejudices. (VanDeVeer, “Interspecific” 77f )

While issues of slavery and the subjugation of women have shifted markedly in the West, our moral compass with regard to anymals has not. It is a common moral intuition that, “even if the choice were between a thousand animal lives or one human life, most people would not doubt that it is right to save the human” (Singer, “Animals” 222). Moral intuition is not a dependable means of assessment, and Regan’s moral intuition is by no means standard. His morality leads him to a conclusion that even other protectionists reject. Intuition is not a dependable moral indicator because it is not objective; we cannot hope to find reliable moral guidance through subjective intuitions. Intuitions as a moral compass have too often proven harmful to morality.

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b. Defining Terms Regan’s Rights View requires, as a sufficient condition for equal inherent value, that one be a “normal” mammal aged one year or more, but Regan does not discuss or define his use of “normal.” Are animals with schizophrenia, those who are transvestites, and those who have had cosmetic surgery to remove wrinkles, shorten tails, or reshape ears normal or abnormal? If one is missing his left nostril, can he be considered a normal adult? What if he has no memory or lacks compassion? There are myriad levels of intelligence, psychosis, memory loss, and deformity that must be examined and categorized to understand which creatures qualify as “normal.” The concept of “harm” is also important in Regan’s work. In the Rights View, levels of harm are determined by the thwarting of one’s opportunities for satisfaction: the greater the opportunity for satisfaction (for such things as desires and preferences), the greater the harm through loss of life. Opportunities for satisfaction indicate the amount of harm entailed through death; therefore, life and death decisions are to be based on levels of harm. Regan discusses aspects of harm thoroughly, but it is difficult to place his various uses of “harm” into one basket. He submits that he has no objection to any “use” of anymals that does not “harm” them. He adds that it is “not only the pain and suffering that matters— though they certainly matter—but it is the harm done to the animals, including the diminished welfare opportunities they endure . . . and their untimely death” (Case 388). Is it possible to “use” another entity and do no harm? Regan seems to indicate in the affirmative; he offers no examples. Essentially this becomes a question of whether or not anymals ought to be used as means to our ends, or whether they ought only to be viewed as ends in and of themselves. It seems inconsistent with Regan’s respect principle, based on the inherent value of subjectsof-a-life, to use anymals as means—even if we could do so without harm. It seems harmful, and contrary to Regan’s Rights View, to “use” any subject-of-a-life as a means to someone else’s end. 2. Central Concepts a. Opportunities for Satisfaction Regan’s application of opportunities for satisfaction seems speciesist, entails epistemological problems, and may be misguided in its focus

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on possible (rather than likely, or actual) opportunities for satisfaction. Additionally, Regan’s assessment of opportunities for satisfaction seems perfectionist, which undermines the effectiveness of his theory. Regan asserts that harm brought through death is a function of foreclosed “opportunities for satisfaction” (Case 324). He claims that it is possible to determine the level of harm “based on assessing the losses each individual faces and assessing these losses equitably” (Case 325). But Regan’s assumptions regarding opportunities for satisfaction seem to be based solely on species and are epistemologically problematic. Regan assumes that a certain level of opportunities for satisfaction is inherent in normal, adult human life while absent in all other species: “[S]ources of satisfaction available to most humans are at once more numerous and varied than those available to animals” (Case 119). Regan offers no justification for or delineation of these numerous, exclusively human sources of satisfaction. Hinging protectionist theories on an assessment of mental states and physical conditions—intelligence, psychological harm, stress, satisfactions available—raises complicated epistemological concerns. According to Regan, in a lifeboat holding a dog and four people, “[A]ll on board have equal inherent value and an equal prima facie right not to be harmed.” Regan concludes: “Now, the harm that death is, is a function of the opportunities for satisfaction it forecloses, and no reasonable person would deny that the death of any of the four humans would be a greater prima facie loss, and thus a greater prima facie harm, than would be true in the case of the dog” (Case 324). Regan assumes that all normal adult humans have greater opportunities for satisfaction than all normal adult dogs. Regan therefore concludes that it is right to preserve the life of a normal adult human at the expense of a normal adult dog without exploring the possible opportunities for satisfaction. “To save the dog and to throw any one of the humans overboard would be to give to the dog more than is his due. It would be to count the lesser harm done to the dog as equal to or greater than the greater harm that would be done to any of the humans if one of them was cast overboard” (Case 324). But Regan does not stop here; he forfeits the dog’s right to life in preference for the four humans, and asserts that it would be right to do the same to 4000 dogs to save the same four humans because, in the Rights View, a normal adult dog will always be sacrificed rather than a normal adult human being.

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Comparing opportunities for satisfaction—particularly satisfaction across species—poses difficulties. Human beings cannot hibernate, soar with light feathers on gusting winds, enjoy the savory taste of wellrotted carrion, or dash up tree trunks. How much opportunity for satisfaction are we to ascribe to experiences that are completely alien to us? We cannot burrow through a log or participate in the mating rituals of the blue-footed boobie. How can we weigh these possible sources of satisfaction against eating popcorn at the theater, finding the perfect shoe at a reasonable price, or engaging in human mating rituals? Even though we swim, does swimming offer human beings as much satisfaction as it offers a river otter, a polar bear, or a bottle-nosed dolphin? How might we answer these questions? Regan, like most people, believes that there is something about the human condition that makes our lives more valuable. According to Webster’s Dictionary, “value” is the “relative worth, or importance” and also “the worth of something in terms of the amount of other things for which it can be exchanged.” Regan does not speak of “value” in this judgmental sense, but his decision indicates that he values the lives of normal adult humans more highly than those of normal adult dogs because he is willing to exchange the lives of dogs for the lives of humans. He roots this enhanced life value in assumed opportunities for satisfaction. If Regan draws conclusions regarding right-to-life based on the special nature of certain human opportunities for satisfaction, he needs to define and explain these special opportunities in relation to those of other subjects-of-a-life. This is particularly important because he has asserted equal inherent value. How can he do this? The problem is epistemological in nature: How can Regan determine the amount of harm constituted by the loss of a particular opportunity for satisfaction for a certain species when he himself cannot share these experiences? The problem is also practical: What might be the unit for measuring such “harm”? Is it possible to obtain a full inventory of the satisfaction felt by each species for all possible opportunities? How can he compare, in an unbiased fashion, each opportunity for each species with those of every other species in order to determine which subject-of-a-life is first to walk the plank? Regan fails to explain how we might calculate losses and harm, measure opportunities for satisfaction, or assess which subjects-of-a-life ought to be allowed to die—or even caused to die—based on this information. He merely assumes that humans have the greatest opportunity for satisfaction.

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In spite of the epistemological and practical difficulties entailed, it is common in the West to assume that “the prospects of satisfaction are qualitatively and quantitatively greater for human beings than for [other] animals” (VanDeVeer, “Interspecific” 70–71). Such unflattering interspecies comparisons are an old habit in philosophy; John Stuart Mill makes a similar assertion and runs into similar difficulties. (Utilitarians face a similar challenge, as we shall see in the next chapter.) In his famous work, Utilitarianism, Mill writes, “[S]ome kinds of pleasure are more desirable and more valuable than others” (15), and only humans are capable of more desirable pleasures. He asserts that people can rise above “base” pleasures, which we share with other creatures, but other species are limited to the lowest forms of pleasure. He famously concludes, “It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied” (18). Mill distinguishes between higher and lower pleasures, between quality as well as quantity of pleasure, and assumes that “higher” pleasures are preferable. In his assessment human beings enjoy these “higher” pleasures, but anymals do not. Mill elevates human pleasures based on his assertion that humans understand the “lower” and choose the higher pleasures, while anymals are unable to assess or choose between these different types of pleasures (McCloskey, John 66). But ancient Greek philosophers such as Diogenes and Plutarch insisted that anymals were superior to humans. In a work titled “Beasts Are Rational,” Plutarch (a Platonist of the first century), gives voice to a pig who argues that it is better to be a swine than a human being. The pig is ultimately unwilling to exchange places with the man, “the most unfortunate of all creatures” (“Beasts” 986). Plutarch believed that if pigs were asked to return to human form, they would reply: “We animals are much happier and better than you men, and you are a fool . . . to ask us to sail away with you, instead of becoming a pig like us” (Sorabji 161). Plutarch’s reincarnated pig comments that “we are right to prefer our present life in place of the former one, now that we have tried both” (“Beasts” 986). Do we not often long for simpler lives, lives like those of anymals? Who is right, Mill or Plutarch? How might one assess the mental, emotional, or psychological state of a satisfied swine? Why do people who have known both “higher” and “lower” pleasures (as defined by Mill) sometimes chose the latter? “Few who have successfully organized their lives for the maximum satisfaction of the lower pleasures

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express regret at having done so, whereas intellectuals . . . do commonly express doubts about the pleasure aspects of their styles of life” (McCloskey, John 68). In Utilitarianism, Mill answers these challenges by leveling an ad hominem attack: Anyone who prefers “animalian” pleasures suffers an “infirmity of character” (19), or lacks cultivation of higher faculties (20). Such character attacks carry no philosophical weight. Like Regan, Mill considers the pleasures and pains of anymals, but not on an equal basis. In Utilitarianism, Mill advocates that we seek the greatest happiness “secured to all mankind; and not to these alone, but so far as the nature of things admits, to the whole sentient creation” (22). Even the “base” pleasures of anymals are “part of the general happiness” that ought to be considered (McCloskey, John 60, 68). Also like Regan, Mill becomes mired in epistemological problems by categorizing pleasures according to his human inclinations, and then by assuming that anymals are incapable of “higher” pleasures. Mill and Regan both conclude that the satisfactions/pleasures of nonhumans count for less than those of humans, yet neither offers a verifiable standard for measuring pleasures or harms—in fact, neither philosopher offers any standard of measurement whatsoever. Like Mill, Regan offers only a subtle (though considerably more gentle) ad hominem attack, labeling dissenters as “unreasonable.” The epistemological problems inherent in Regan’s use of opportunities for satisfaction put him in a precarious position because he accuses utilitarian philosophers of ignoring inherent value, and of trading off on the value of life (based on pleasures and pains), without presenting any viable system of measurement. Regan asserts that utilitarian protectionism is a theory without adequate attention to practicability because the method of measurement is a mere concept without definable means. Likewise, Regan fails to offer a functional method of measurement for use in common, real-life scenarios. Epistemological problems aside, Regan’s focus on opportunities for satisfaction still seems misguided and problematic. Of what relevance are prospects for satisfaction? Of what value are prospects if they are almost never realized? Is it not important which species is most apt to actualize satisfactions when the opportunity arises? How does Regan calculate an opportunity for satisfaction that has a one-in-a-million chance of being realized? While human beings work throughout most of each day in the

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hope of gaining a given satisfaction for the future, anymals perpetually realize a variety of opportunities for satisfaction that most Western human beings routinely forego. As far as we know, only humans willingly work many hours at tasks they despise, perpetually delaying simple satisfactions in hopes of possible future pleasures. It would seem reasonable to weigh opportunities for satisfaction that are likely to be actualized more heavily than innumerable hypothetical but unlikely opportunities for satisfaction. By assuming different levels of opportunities for satisfaction based solely on species, the Rights View risks perfectionism, which Regan denounces. Perfectionism in ethical theories allows for acquired or biological traits to determine whether or not an entity is morally protected, and to what degree. Perfectionism offers elite status to a specific type of individual based on morally irrelevant, largely predetermined characteristics such as gender, skin color, religion, or species. Regan denounces perfectionism based on merit or talent because it allows for routine, systematic oppression (Case 18). Regan argues that education, athletic ability, and musical talent should not determine one’s value. He finds perfectionism and the systematic oppression of certain individuals reprehensible—against our reflective intuition—and defends his theory as nonperfectionist: [L]ifeboat and other prevention cases, including those discussed earlier, are not decided by appeal to perfectionist principles, according to the rights view. They are decided by appeal to principles that acknowledge and respect the equality of the individuals involved, both their equal inherent value (no one individual’s losses are to be outweighed by summing the losses of any group of individuals) and their equal prima facie right not to be harmed (no one individual’s lesser harm can count for more than another’s greater harm). This is not perfectionism. (Case 325)

Yet Regan assumes, without explanation, that normal adult humans have a particular quality, in this case a certain level of opportunities for satisfaction, that is absent in all other normal adult primates, mammals, and anymals in general. It is most likely true that only humans can solve crossword puzzles, play the oboe, or systematically categorize mushrooms by Latin names. Regan does not reveal how he weighs such possible “opportunities for satisfaction,” but it would seem difficult for him to avoid using qualities held by individuals (i.e., the contents rather than the cup). Although Regan insists that his

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concept of inherent value is nonperfectionist, his concept of opportunities for satisfaction seems dependent on attributes such as intelligence and health—perfectionist attributes. Using these seemingly perfectionist attributes, Regan asserts that enhanced opportunities for satisfaction (a quality held only by human beings, over which anymals have little or no control) concurrently indicates greater harm through loss of life. Greater harm through death, Regan concludes, lends humans the privilege to live at the expense of nonhuman individuals. The potential for routine, systematic exploitation in Regan’s Rights View is alarming not just for other species, but for humans themselves. Those who are well educated, young, healthy, and considered beautiful in the context of their culture will have more numerous and varied opportunities for satisfaction than poor, sickly, ill-formed individuals. Are not the opportunities for satisfaction greater for you or me than for a beggar on the filthy streets of Bangladesh? Is it morally acceptable to make life and death decisions based on enhanced or reduced opportunities for satisfaction? “Is confidence in the greater loss justified? It depends on the human; it depends on the dog. . . . [W]hat if the fourth passenger is not a dog, but a Martian with a far richer life than our own?” (Sorabji 213). Regan’s use of opportunities for satisfaction offers elite status to a specific type of individual based on inborn characteristics—this constitutes perfectionism by Regan’s own definition. The perfectionist tendencies in Regan’s theory could lead to dire consequences. At one point Regan writes that if dogs did have greater opportunities for satisfaction than human beings, it would not “be wrong to cast a million humans overboard to save a canine survivor, if the harm death would be for the humans was, in each case, less than the harm death would be for the dog” (“Dog” 57). Whether human or dog, as many individuals can be pushed overboard as are necessary to maintain the lives of those who have the greatest opportunities for satisfaction. In this way, Regan asserts, the least harm is incurred. Regan offers no details about his human sailors, but asserts that normal adult human opportunities for satisfaction are inherently more valuable than those of a normal adult canine. What if the dog in Regan’s life raft is a young, healthy adult that happens to be a seeing eye dog, a rescue dog, a herding dog, a police dog, and a muchloved family pet, while the humans admit that they are miserable, inactive, and bored by life? Do Regan’s calculations include the many

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satisfactions that a dog might offer others? The dog is apt to increase opportunities for satisfaction among all that come to know her, while such miserable humans are more likely to detract from the joys of others. What if the humans were perfectly normal adult geriatric convicts—rapists and murderers—while the canine was a rare Arctic fox pregnant with eight pups? Do not violent criminals decrease collective opportunities for satisfaction? One might ask whether or not geriatric convicts are “normal” adults, or whether or not a rare mammal might be considered “normal,” but Regan has not defined these terms. (Regan grants that abnormal human beings might fall into the same category as other species, or perhaps even into a less protected category.) But uncertainty as to what constitutes “normal” begs the question: It is at least possible that the death of a canine might be a greater prima facie loss of opportunities for satisfaction than the death of any—or all—“normal” sea-bound humans in Regan’s lifeboat. Regan assumes that normal adult humans have greater opportunities for satisfaction than normal adults of every other species. His assessment has interesting implications: [I]f we allow (what is certainly debatable) that we can in principle compare the harm that death is to a [normal adult] whale with the harm death is to a [normal adult] human, what then follows if we discover, contrary to expectation, that whales generally live richer, more satisfying lives than humans do? On Regan’s view we should sacrifice, if it comes to a choice, any number of [normal adult] human beings rather than one [normal adult] whale possessing superior faculties; indeed we should wipe out the entire human species rather than one superior whale. (If you can’t imagine superior whales, try substituting a suitable space alien.) (A. Taylor, Animal 259)

Taylor’s whale scenario allows closer examination of Regan’s conclusion. If we elevate human opportunities for satisfaction above those of all other species, and make life and death ethical decisions based on those opportunities, certain subjects-of-a-life will be permitted to live at the expense of others when choices must be made. If this is the case, it would seem contradictory for Regan to assert that all subjects-of-a-life have equal inherent value in the Rights View. Peter Singer writes: Suppose, for instance, that a new and fatal virus affects both dogs and humans. Scientists believe that the only way to save the lives of any of those affected is to carry out experiments on some of them. The subjects of the experiments will die, but the knowledge gained will

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Singer’s analogy seems to be flawed in two significant ways. First, Regan has created a scenario where chucking one—or a million— entities overboard will save lives. A certain number of individuals must go overboard, and those that remain will be able to stay afloat. In contrast, Singer’s scenario entails experimentation, which is necessarily based on assumptions and the hope or “belief ” that lives will be saved. Second, in Regan’s scenario each lifeboat entity is equally in jeopardy of drowning if all stay aboard. Diseases do not cause death with the certainty of Regan’s overfilled lifeboat, and neither do experiments offer salvation with the same certainty offered in Regan’s scenario. For these reasons, Singer’s analogy is weak. Despite considerable problems in his analogy, Singer effectively highlights permissibility of anymal experimentation (similar to what many protectionists are currently fighting against) in Regan’s lifeboat scenario. The scenario Regan portrays could only occur if one assumes that a particular species is inherently “the first to go,” or “the last to go,” as Regan has done. Thus Regan confounds his own assertion of equal inherent value, and his own denunciation of perfectionism, by assuming that normal adult human beings have greater opportunities for satisfaction, and that they therefore suffer more harm through death than normal adult dogs. In other instances Regan clearly avoids perfectionism. For instance, he offers a scenario where four preeminent scientists, capable of offering enormous health benefits to humanity, have a degenerative brain disease. The fifth “lifeboat” passenger “delivers Twinkies to retail stores in Brooklyn” (Case 386). Regan unequivocally concludes that it is not acceptable in the Rights View to use the Twinkie deliverer for experimentation in the hope of saving the four scientists. He adds:

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[ J]ust as perfectionism is not an equitable basis for assessing the justice of practices involving humans, so it is an unacceptable basis for assessing the justice of practices involving animals. . . . Implicit allegiance to perfectionism . . . would tempt one to sanction the harmful use of animals in research, their “lesser” value being “sacrificed” for the “greater” value of humanity. Grounded in the recognition of the equal inherent value of all those who have inherent value, the rights view denies that a distinction between lesser and greater would be made where the perfectionist defense of the use of animals in research requires it. (Case 387)

Here Regan indicates that intelligence has nothing to do with opportunities for satisfaction. Why does Regan protect Twinkie sellers but not dogs? He admits that not all humans have the same opportunities for satisfaction, but offers no tools or standards with which to quantify or qualify these factors between human individuals. Maybe scientists do have greater opportunities for satisfaction . . . or maybe dogs do. Regan does not offer criteria with which to assess opportunities for satisfaction. If we could conclusively determine that some entities or species have greater opportunities for satisfaction in comparison with others, a larger question remains: What relevance might this have to a rights theory intended to protect the basic rights of all subjects-of-a-life? Regan asserts that “moral agents are viewed as equal in inherent value, if any have such value”; therefore, any criterion for “how some may be justly treated applies to all” (Case 239). Based on Regan’s assertion of equal inherent value, and corresponding equal treatment, it seems reasonable to assume that either a dog has the same right to life as a human being, or it has none at all (A. Taylor, Animal 257). Regan’s theory indicates that the dog does have as much right to survive on the lifeboat as any of the human beings (all subjects-of-alife have equal inherent value). Yet in practice—in Regan’s lifeboat scenario—the dog is not granted an equal opportunity to survive. Regan’s perfectionism undermines his theory. Rights theories are ineffective when they allow that circumstances may arise in which a right may be overridden. Typically, this will be the case when there are conflicting rights in a situation. The possibility exists that the rights of non-human animals may be acknowledged in theory, but overridden in practice by human moral agents when they judge that the circumstances warrant it. Since, as moral patients, animals are not in a position to contest these judgments, and since it is human moral agents who will stand to gain from them, the theory might end up not giving much protection in practice! (Benton 86)

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As noted, the Rights View offers preferential treatment to animals assumed to have greater opportunities for satisfaction; when life and death are at stake, it is the dog that goes overboard, not the Homo sapiens. The dog’s fate seems to hinge on assumed levels of self-consciousness. Regan “attributes inherent value to creatures possessing a degree of self-consciousness” over and above what would be necessary for mere sentience (A. Taylor, Animal 251). While he only intends this criterion to be a sufficient condition, his lifeboat scenario reveals that Regan hinges basic rights, such as the equal right to life, on mental/emotional states. How are these to be determined? Regan could just as well have assumed that all men have greater opportunities for satisfaction than women simply because men are the dominant gender in Western culture. He could then justify chucking women out of lifeboats to save the lives of men. What is the point of offering equal inherent value, and a right to life, that can be snatched away when the chips are down? A rights theory that bases protection on indeterminate mental factors is incapable of protecting the fundamental rights of any individual. If life and death decisions hinge on human assessments of harm through loss of opportunities for satisfaction, humans are apt to grant themselves the first and longest chance to live, as Regan has done. If the lives of all anymals can be sacrificed for the sake of normal adult human lives, as indicated by Regan, the Rights View looks very much like the status quo. b. Moral Agency Regan assumes that only human beings can be moral agents, based on an unsupported assertion that only humans have free will. This distinction is speciesist, inconsistent with the theory of evolution, and stands contrary to evidence. Regan defines moral agents as “individuals who have a variety of sophisticated abilities, including in particular the ability to bring impartial moral principles to bear on the determination of what, all considered, morally ought to be done and, having made this determination, to freely choose or fail to choose to act as morality, as they conceive it, requires” (Case 151). Regan concludes that anymals cannot be moral agents (Case 295). Webster’s Dictionary notes that morality requires one to conform to the rules of a particular group; morality consists of standards of

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behavior within a community that members are expected to uphold (Orlans 7). Evelyn Pluhar defines a moral agent as one who is capable of “understanding moral principles and of recognizing the rightful claims of others. One’s past behavior provides evidence for one’s moral agency” (115). Moral obligations are often referred to as duties; Regan asserts that anymals (moral patients), “have no duties. . . . Only moral agents can have duties” (Case 285). According to Regan moral agents have free will, “free choice” to apply or not to apply “impartial” moral principles. Moral philosophers have long criticized notions of free will as contrary to evidence and to science. The opposing theory, determinism, reduces morality to cause and effect, or mere biology: all animals, including primates, behave as they are programmed to behave. According to determinism, we have no free choices, we make no real decisions; “our belief that we can act morally is a delusion produced by our evolutionary history” ( J. Wilson 199). Regan’s notion of human beings as moral agents is dependent on an unsupported (but long debated) assumption of free will. Regan’s assertion also seems contrary to ample empirical evidence indicating that anymals do have a sense of morality—that they can and do conform or break rules within their communities. Rosemary Rodd, quoting the ethologist Frans de Waal, indicates that chimpanzees have a sense of morality: Some descriptions of their behavior do suggest that they feel consciously indignant at cheating acts: “The two basic rules are one good turn deserves another and ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’.” “The rules are not always obeyed and flagrant disobedience may be punished. . . . [R]eciprocity among chimpanzees is governed by the same sense of moral rightness and justice as it is among humans.” (Alexander 206)

Chimpanzees demonstrate “a rudimentary sense of fair play” and are “rational beings” whose behavior suggests “social-contract ethics of rational self-interest” (Alexander 206). Rhesus monkeys, or macaques, also appear to behave morally— to behave in ways that demonstrate a social conscience. Studies have shown that “a majority of rhesus monkeys will consistently suffer hunger rather than secure food at the expense of electroshock to a conspecific” (Rachels, Created 150). One such “macaque went without food for nearly two weeks rather than hurt its fellow” (Sagan

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117). Those who wrote up the experiment on rhesus monkey behavior “concluded that a majority of the subjects prefer to go hungry rather than hurt other monkeys” (Pluhar 57). If human beings made this same choice, under the same conditions, observers would conclude that the subjects had made a morally exemplary decision— that they had behaved morally. (In contrast, those visiting an anymal lab or factory farm would likely see little to recommend human beings as candidates for moral agency.) Interestingly, scholars such as Miligram have conducted experiments revealing that humans are far more likely to inflict pain on conspecifics—even pain which they believe to be deadly—and are far less likely to demonstrate the morally exemplary behavior of macaques. The infamous Miligram experiments showed that the overwhelming majority of human subjects, normal people, were willing to deliver severe, even fatal, shocks to other humans, just because the experimenter told them to do so. The “shocked” humans were just acting, unlike the rhesus monkey victims, but they were very convincing. Unlike the monkeys, the human subjects were not even tempted with food, but still were willing to fry another human, a fifty-year-old moaning, gasping man who claimed to have a heart condition! (Pluhar 56)

When humans are compared with rhesus monkeys, it is “depressing to realize that we humans have not done comparably well in similar experiments” (Pluhar 57). Biologists (and many commoners) have observed canines administering punishments to deviant pack members, those who fail to uphold expected codes of behavior (Alexander 206). Mary Midgley discusses morality among wolves: Recently, ethologists have taken the trouble to watch wolves systematically, between meal-times, and have found them to be, by human standards, paragons of steadiness and good conduct. They pair for life, they are faithful and affectionate spouses and parents, they show great loyalty to their pack and great courage and persistence in the face of difficulties, they carefully respect one another’s territories, keep their dens clean, and seldom kill anything that they do not need for dinner. If they fight with another wolf, the encounter normally ends with a submission. They have an inhibition on killing the suppliant and about attacking females and cubs. They have also, like all social animals, a fairly elaborate etiquette, including subtly varied ceremonies of greeting and reassurance, by which friendship is strengthened, co-operation achieved, and the wheels of social life generally oiled. Our knowledge of this behavior is not based upon the romantic impressions of casual

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travellers; it rests on long and careful investigations by trained zoologists, backed up by miles of film, graphs, maps, population surveys, droppings analysis, and all the rest of the contemporary toolbag. Moreover, these surveys have often been undertaken by authorities who were initially rather hostile to the wolf and inclined to hope that it could be blamed for various troubles. (Beast 25–26)

Evidence indicates that at least canines and chimpanzees are moral agents by definition. Where there are punishments for unacceptable behavior, there must also be codes of expected behavior. The social lives of at least some anymals indicate that members have duties and can be punished for failing to fulfill expectations. Observations of canine pack behavior have lead biologists to offer new hypotheses regarding moral systems—a clear indication that scholars feel they are observing moral behavior among other species. Some recent suggestions are that moral systems arise • when outside threats encourage group cohesion, • when such threats might be most appropriately combated by complex internal social organization, and • when certain members of a group can take action to make others modify behaviour (Alexander 80). Not only a variety of primates and canines fit this description: many anymals “live in social groups and behave in ways appropriate to preserving those societies” (Rodman 7). In fact, on greater reflection, and with enhanced information, it would seem unusual for codes of conduct—duties—to occur only in human societies, and not among other gregarious species, ones that combat outside threats as a group. For instance, musk oxen unite against outside aggressors. Is it reasonable to assume that they have no choice in how they behave, while human beings, and human beings alone, have free will? On this count the theory of evolution is in conflict with Regan’s Rights View. Darwin insisted that differences were a matter of degree, not kind: “there is no fundamental difference between man and the higher mammals in their mental faculties” (Darwin 46). Every species is related to every other species, and we all live in the same world. And what benefits one species might well benefit others. “Any animal able to use mental abilities to choose between alternative forms of behavior is likely to be advantaged in the evolutionary process. It would be odd, Darwin suggested, if only humans had achieved any measure of this massive evolutionary advantage” (Orlans 12).

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Not only does it now seem extremely likely that anymals have moral codes, but as with the rhesus monkeys, other species have been observed exhibiting moral excellence. For instance, other species exhibit altruism; for at least 2,000 years altruistic behavior has been recognized as a form of moral excellence. The “highest level of morality is reached when persons extend their sympathies beyond their own group and indeed beyond their own species to all sentient creatures” (Orlans 14). This moral excellence, altruism, is evident in other species (S. Clark, “Animals” 53). Sharing in each others’ distress and rescuing endangered fellow animals is reported among many species. In 1996 it was observed in the Mediterranean how an electroharpooned dolphin was supported and eventually rescued by fellow dolphins. . . . Similar reports have been made about wild dogs, African elephants, and baboons, among others. . . . [S]haring in the form of ‘mutual aid and cooperation’ was not only the ‘prehuman origin’ of all moral behavior but was also a basic condition of survival and critical factor of evolution. (Doczi 75–76)

There is more to altruism than meets the eye. Studies indicate that other-than-human animals are much more complicated morally than human beings have generally assumed. For instance, not only will rhesus monkeys go hungry rather than harm another of their kind, they have also been observed defending weak members (who share no relation) from more aggressive rhesus monkeys. Similarly, rats have been known to perform altruistic deeds for other needy rats (Pluhar 56). Anymals have even exhibited altruism outside their own species. In fact, such incidences seem to be as old as human history; the people of ancient Crete recorded dolphins that assisted drowning humans. In 1996, in Chicago’s Brookfield Zoo, an eight-year-old gorilla named Binti rescued a three-year-old human being that fell into her cage, while her own seventeen-month-old baby clutched her mother’s back (Associated). Dogs have also been known to willingly risk their lives for human beings. Various species will also befriend members of another species. Cats and dogs, cats and mice, cats and birds—almost every imaginable combination—have proven to be amicable living companions. The gorilla Koko, who was taught sign language, befriended a cat who was eventually killed by a careless driver. Even three years after the cat’s death Koko signed with great emotion when shown pictures of her feline friend (Orlans 148).

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On reflection, with additional information, it seems highly unlikely that only human beings among the many social animals fit the definition of “moral agent.” Social order is maintained through ethical codes; social expectations imply preferred conduct, or duties, that can be maintained by authority of the larger group. Other gregarious species maintain social control—they have rules of conduct and maintain expected behavior. It is common for Westerners to assume that we are the only moral animals. It is true that anymals are not expected to conform to our moral codes—they are not moral agents with regard to human legal and social codes. And we are not moral agents in the pack morality of Arctic wolves or the herd morality of African elephants, nor would we have been moral agents amongst Tasmanian wolves (which were technically marsupials, complete with a pouch, and which we hunted to extinction in the last century). Yet other-than-human animals behave as if they have duties: a lioness to her cub, a stallion to his herd, a seeing-eye dog to her mistress. “There can be no doubt that in many cases animals’ actions are appropriately described as correct or good” (Finsen 209). At least some species of anymals are moral agents. In any event, Evelyn Pluhar notes that lacking moral agency has never been a reason to remove the basic moral rights of human beings, or to exclude them from moral standing. She notes that Gandhi was no doubt a better moral agent than the average thief, but this does not entitle Gandhi to use the thief for toxicity testing. One who is immoral, or who lacks moral agency, is “not necessarily inferior in the sense that he or she has no claim to life equal to the normal human’s” (Pluhar 76). In the absence of evidence to the contrary, Regan asserts that we must assume anymals to be like ourselves; the burden of proof lies with those who assert that anymals do not have qualities that we ascribe to ourselves (Case 34–37). Therefore, if Regan assumes humans have free will, he must either support his assertion by demonstrating on what grounds he concludes that free will is an exclusive human attribute, or he must assume that anymals also have free will. To do otherwise is to be partial and inconsistent. Morality appears to be species specific rather than exclusively human. Anymals generally have no human duties or human moral obligations, but they appear to have moral obligations in their own families and communities. Regan’s exclusion of anymals from the category of moral agents without discussion is inconsistent with the theory of evolution, with

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empirical evidence, and with his own philosophical assertions (Case 34–37). While choice may be considered critical to moral theory, there is little justification for granting human beings free will, while excluding anymals. c. Inherent Value Regan uses the analogy of a cup to explain the basis on which he ascribes inherent value, but his analogy is inadequate to the task. It is unclear whether or not the notion of inherent value can be adequately defended. Through the analogy of a cup and its contents Regan accuses utilitarian protectionists of valuing the ingredients inside the cup without acknowledging the value of the cup itself. Regan writes that utilitarians view individuals as “mere receptacles . . . of positive value (pleasure) or negative value (pain),” such that the individuals themselves “have no value of their own; what has value is what they contain (i.e., what they experience)” (Case 205). Regan accuses utilitarian theories of robbing individuals of inherent value because “welfare is something that can be taken into account and then traded off against other values. . . . Regan [will] have none of this utilitarian calculating” (Rachels, Created 217): The cup (the individual) does “contain” (experience) things that are valuable (e.g., pleasures), but the value of the cup (individual) is not the same as any one or any sum of the valuable things the cup contains. Individual moral agents themselves have a distinctive kind of value, according to the postulate of inherent value, but not according to the receptacle view to which utilitarians are committed. It’s the cup, not just what goes into it, that is valuable. (Case 236)

The strength of an analogy is rooted in the closeness of the parallel between the two ideas that are compared. While Regan’s cup analogy offers a thought-provoking metaphor, his analogy proves inadequate in six ways: • A cup is easily separated from its contents. • The greatest effect the contents can have on a cup would be a change of temperature or soiling the surface. • Cups are indifferent to what goes inside them. In contrast, individuals • Cannot be separated from vast and varied experiences, “virtues,” or emotions.

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• Our contents affect us and become, to some extent, who we are. We become electricians or computer hacks dependent on what is “inside the cup.” • While it is easy to imagine a cup without anything inside, it is difficult to imagine an individual without experiences and aptitudes. In the case of individuals, one might legitimately wonder if there is a difference between “cup” and “contents”: If I have a bottle of wine in my hand, I can pour the wine out of the bottle; but there is no way in which I can separate the valuable experiences of pigs from the pigs themselves. We cannot even make sense of the idea of an experience—whether of pleasure, or preference satisfaction, or anything else—floating around detached from all sentient creatures. . . . [I]t is not easy to see how the individuals and the valued experiences are to be separated. (Singer, “Animal” 8, 12)

Regan defines a “subject-of-a-life” according to certain attributes; he credits inherent value based on possessing particular attributes, such as psychophysical identity. Can Regan consistently define inherent value based on specific attributes, such as desires, beliefs, and a certain ability to act as a requirement for inherent value, and then claim that inherent value is based on “the cup itself ”? What are these “cups”—apart from desires, beliefs, and the ability to act? What are they apart from experiences, emotions, aptitudes, or propensities? In the absence of a definition of what constitutes these “cups,” devoid of all experiences and aptitudes, what is the meaning of inherent value? The uncertainties of Regan’s cup analogy call into question the notion of inherent value itself, as defined by Regan. In light of his criterion for a subject-of-a-life, which includes attributes, and his insistence that inherent value is based on “the cup itself,” his cup analogy does not hold water. There are other ways to defend inherent value: as a logical locus and proper end for the value an entity places in things outside itself, or perhaps as arising in relation to other entities. But the concept is far from clear as used by Regan, yet it is central to the Rights View. The difficulties entailed in proposing inherent value will resurface (as inherent worth in the chapter on Taylor’s work), and much of what is said here will remain relevant.

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d. Subject-of-a-Life Mammals granted “subject-of-a-life” status are simultaneously granted equal inherent value. Those who are granted equal inherent value are thereby granted the right not to be harmed: “[B]ecause all moral agents are viewed as equal in inherent value . . . what applies to how some may be justly treated applies to all” (Case 239). The status of “subject-of-a-life” is therefore extremely important, and it behooves us to look closely at the criteria for this designation. Regan’s subject-of-a-life category includes all beings that have beliefs and desires; perception, memory, and a sense of the future, including their own future; an emotional life together with feelings of pleasure and pain; preference- and welfare-interests; the ability to initiate action in pursuit of their desires and goals; a psychophysical identity over time; and an individual welfare in the sense that their experiential life fares well or ill for them, logically independently of their utility for others and logically independently of their being the object of anyone else’s interest. (Case 243)

Regan’s delineation of subject-of-a-life seems unsatisfactory on three counts: • It is unclear why Regan has included this particular set of criteria. • Regan’s criteria seem perfectionist. • Regan’s criteria can be reduced to welfare, the same term used by utilitarian philosophers. First, Regan ought to have some reason for selecting each of the criteria which he has included—each ought to be morally relevant and indispensable to Regan’s list of qualifications. However, this does not seem to be the case. Why has Regan included memory? Is memory integral to an entity if that entity is to be granted moral standing? If an individual is unable to remember anything at all, does she lose her subject-of-a-life status? Do senile old people lose their right not to be harmed, and if so, why? If not, why is memory included? If one remembers everything, but is paralyzed and cannot initiate actions based on desires and goals, does such a one lose subject-of-a-life status? How is this quality morally relevant to subject-of-a-life status? Why is this necessary for one to be granted equal inherent value? Does it make sense to revoke a subject-of-a-life’s equal inherent value if she becomes paralyzed or loses her memory? Regan’s reasons for selecting his specific criterion for subject-of-a-life status, and the importance of each, remain unclear.

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Second, Regan’s description of a subject-of-a-life raises questions regarding the inherent value of individuals—the “cups” who qualify for subject-of-a-life status. Regan asserts that inherent value is based on “the cup itself.” Only those who are granted subject-of-a-life status are thought to have inherent value. If Regan is to maintain nonperfectionist ideals for inherent value, his qualifications for a subject-of-a-life must therefore also be nonperfectionist. Regan clearly delineates both physical and psychological requirements for subjects-of-a-life, such as the ability to feel pleasure and pain, memory, and having beliefs and desires. Therefore, for one to be a subject-of-a-life one must have something in the cup. Regan’s subject-of-alife criteria conflict with his insistence that inherent value is based on “the cup itself.” The qualities Regan lists for subject-of-a-life status define an agent that can be benefited or harmed. Without a psychophysical identity, harms and benefits have no agent on which to act, no place to dwell. Therefore the qualifications for subject-of-a-life that Regan offers are perfectionist—they are not the cup itself; they are “attributes” held by the entity, or contained in the “cup.” Third, an examination of Regan’s criteria for a subject-of-a-life reveals that subject-of-a-life is synonymous with having a welfare. In The Case for Animal Rights, Regan asserts that “mammalian animals have a welfare” (82). He describes in detail what welfare consists of: having a psychophysical identity over time (116); autonomy (84); interests, both preference and welfare (87); desires and goals (89); psychological and social needs, including an emotional life (90); and the ability to be harmed directly or through deprivation (94), or to gain satisfaction (93). If each of the items on Regan’s subject-of-a-life list is checked against qualities Regan considers to be critical for having a welfare, each is present—the two are synonymous. To begin with, several of the criteria are identical, including preference- and welfare-interests (Case 87), psychophysical identity over time (Case 116), and of course “welfare” itself. This leaves just four other criteria to be explored: • beliefs and desires: Regan writes that “to have desires involves having beliefs” (Case 92). Where Regan asserts that there are desires, he simultaneously asserts the existence of beliefs. Beliefs are included in Regan’s requirement for having a welfare. • perception, memory, and a sense of the future, including their own future: Goals

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are part of Regan’s list of requirements for having a welfare. Individuals with goals must have a sense of the future. Additionally, Regan asserts that to have beliefs entails both perception and memory (Case 80–81). As noted, beliefs are included in Regan’s requirement for having a welfare. Therefore perception, memory, and a sense of one’s future are also entailed in having a welfare, and are therefore not separate from having a welfare. • an emotional life together with feelings of pleasure and pain: Regan writes that welfare entails psychological and social needs including an emotional life (Case 90) and the ability to be harmed directly or through deprivation (Case 94). Direct harm is through inflictions, “acute or chronic physical or psychological suffering. . . . Suffering involves prolonged pain of considerable intensity” (Case 94). To have a welfare therefore also entails the ability to suffer physically and psychologically. Additionally, Regan’s definition of welfare entails “living well,” which means that one has a positive welfare. Those with a positive welfare can “take satisfaction in pursuing and obtaining what they prefer” (Case 117). The American Heritage Dictionary defines “satisfaction,” as a “pleasure.” Therefore, having an emotional life entails the ability to take satisfaction, or concurrently to suffer harm. • the ability to initiate action in pursuit of desires and goals: Autonomy is on Regan’s list of necessary qualities for having a welfare, and he writes that “individuals are autonomous if they have preferences and have the ability to initiate action with a view to satisfying them” (Case 85). The ability to initiate action in pursuit of desires and goals is therefore, as are all the other criteria for subjects-of-a-life, entailed in having a welfare. Having a welfare entails the ability to be benefited or harmed so that one fares well or ill during the course of a lifetime (Case 82). The criteria that Regan offers as qualifying an individual as a subject-of-a-life are all entailed in having a welfare, therefore to be a subject-of-a-life is also to have a welfare. Regan’s subject-of-a-life—a mammal, aged one year or more, with a psychophysical identity that can be benefited or harmed—can be reduced to welfare, and welfare can be reduced to benefits and harms. This looks very much like utilitarianism. However, this is not to say that Regan proposes a utilitarian theory. Rather than emphasize benefits and harms (as utilitarians do

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under similar terms of “pleasures” and “pains”), the Rights View focuses on a psychophysical identity (the individual, or cup). Subjectsof-a-life must be able to have experiences, to be harmed and benefited. This ability (contents of the cup) qualifies an entity for inherent value, which in turn obligates moral agents to respect that entity’s welfare by not causing harm. Regan’s theory does look very much like utilitarianism with regard to the importance of experiential welfare: Experiences, and how those experiences affect welfare, determine moral standing. Regan’s critical category, subject-of-a-life, is somewhat arbitrary and perfectionistic, and can be reduced to welfare. e. Rights Those with rights have a claim to something against someone (Feinberg, Rights 159). Rights are a “justified claim or entitlement” often validated by moral principles and rules (Orlans 28). Most Westerners willingly accept the existence of human rights, but such rights are by nature ephemeral and subjective, and almost always humancentered. Few are inclined to think that anymals have rights—a claim to something against human beings. Many argue that anymals are simply not the kinds of beings that can have rights due to the nature of rights. “It is one thing to say that it is wrong to treat animals cruelly, quite another to say that animals have rights” (Passmore 116–17). Others argue that the concept of rights is not applicable to anymals: “if we fail to treat someone in a way that he/she has a right to be treated, that person not only has a right to demand that he/she be given the treatment, but to complain if it is not forthcoming” (Kushner 147). Those that cannot defend their rights therefore are not eligible for rights. In short, “one can have rights only against those capable of acknowledging them” (S. Clark, “Rights” 172). This argument asserts that anymals cannot have rights because they are incapable of defending those rights. Therefore, any obligations we have toward anymals are either owed to the “owners” of anymals or are offered merely as self-imposed obligations (Orlans 29). If this is the case, neither children nor primitive peoples are likely to qualify as rights bearers. But before we concern ourselves with extending rights to other species, perhaps we should focus on whether or not any rights of any kind have any validity.

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An extension of rights presupposes that rights exist, but many philosophers argue that rights seem “synthetic and unconvincing—whether applied in the human case or otherwise” (Ryder, Animal 328). Rights have not conclusively been grounded on anything more ultimate than human assertions. Rights are not tangible, and it is difficult to prove the existence, in the material world, of mere concepts. It is not surprising that many philosophers “are suspicious of the concept [of rights] and wonder exactly what it means” (Rachels, Created 207). Rights remain notoriously subjective. They are “given and denied by humans, in some kind of collective fashion. . . . [I]f all humans were to decide that dogs, or rhesus monkeys, or laboratory rats have rights equally with humans they would indeed then have such rights” (Alexander 156–57). What is the value of a claim that seems to have no grounding beyond human contrivance? Are Regan’s subject-ofa-life criteria just another human creation, something that we imagine and respond to as if it really existed? Regan’s Rights View is dependent on the existence of human rights. In his more recent works Regan offers practical examples in order to demonstrate the importance of acknowledging human rights: the infamous Tuskegee studies on syphilis conducted on poor African Americans, and the severely retarded children of Willowbrook who were used for hepatitis studies. Regan asserts that morality requires us to respect individuals regardless of skin color, economic class, or mental abilities. He asserts that individuals have an inherent value, and that this inherent value carries a concurrent duty to treat individuals with respect (Regan, Animal 67–89). Regan indicates that human rights are required to protect the most vulnerable, that human rights as proposed by philosophers such as Kant, are inadequate. Kant “limits inherent value, or worth, to those humans who are persons. Persons are individuals who possess a variety of sophisticated capacities, reason and autonomy in particular” (Regan, Animal 77). The children of Willowbrook, Regan notes, would not have been covered under Kantian ethics. Regan offers a more inclusive criterion for determining who holds the coveted “inherent value”: subjects-of-a-life. Subjects-of-a-life have an experiential welfare; they fare better or worse, depending on circumstances. We are all subjects-of-a-life because “each of us is equally a somebody, not a something,” and we are all “the subject-of-a-life, not a life without a subject” (Regan, Animal 81). Human beings have rights because we are “subjects-of-a-life,”

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and “what happens to us—whether to our bodies, or our freedom, or our lives themselves—matters to us because it makes a difference to the quality and duration of our lives, as experienced by us, whether anybody else cares about this or not” (Regan, Empty 50). He asserts: “All those who have this status—that is to say, all those who, as subjects-of-a-life, have an experiential welfare—possess inherent value” (Regan, Animal 82). And those with inherent value have rights. Anymals have rights for the same reason that humans have rights— we are the subjects of a life. Subject-of-a-life status includes nearly all human beings. Regan notes that those humans who are not subjects-of-a-life may still have inherent value, but Regan’s defense of rights centers on those who distinctly are subjects-of-a-life (Regan, Animal 82–83). The children of Willowbrook—and the Hereford cattle at the local slaughterhouse— are most certainly subjects-of-a-life; they have a welfare and are individuals rather than things. Regan’s Rights View is a moral theory “in which human rights are central; a moral theory that represents the life, the bodily integrity, and the liberty of individuals as being worthy of maximum protection; a moral theory that provides this same protection to all human subjects-of-a-life regardless of their race, gender, class, age, or sophisticated intellectual capabilities” (Regan, Animal 89). But showing the importance of human rights, justifying the existence of human rights, cannot prove that they actually exist. What Regan demonstrates— and demonstrates very well—is why human beings might want to propose and defend the existence of human rights. “Rights” are ephemeral, arbitrary, and to some scholars nothing more than “human invention” (Ryder, “Painism” 197). If human rights stand on such tenuous ground, is there any point in proposing anymal rights? To this question, the answer is a resounding, “Yes!” Philosophic skepticism regarding the existence of rights is a small and isolated phenomenon, largely experienced among philosophers. Most citizens of Western countries accept the existence of rights—most notably their own. To refer to “rights” is to call to mind something that most of us feel strongly about. In Western countries, “the language of rights resonates powerfully in the public mind” (A. Taylor, “Animal” 251). Whether or not such rights actually exist, they play a central role in Western ethics and law. So long as we grant the existence of human rights, anymal rights are a legitimate proposition. It is difficult to maintain consistency

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and grant rights to all human beings while excluding anymals. The burden of proof lies with those who would assert that anymals are different in some morally relevant way and consequently have no rights. In the absence of a morally relevant distinction, consistency requires that we accept anymal rights if we accept human rights. For those interested in defending human rights, Regan poses a serious challenge: How can we maintain consistency while defending the basic rights of all humanity yet denying those same basic rights to all other life-forms? If we cannot reasonably defend our exclusive rights, Regan notes that the price will be daunting: “Morally, we are never to take the life, invade or injure the body, or limit the freedom of any animal who is a subject-of-a-life, just because we personally or society in general will benefit. If we mean anything by the ascription of rights to animals, we mean this” (Regan, Animal 98). While the existence of human rights presupposes and in many ways insists on anymal rights, our understanding of human rights is inadequate as a basis for protectionist philosophy because the concept of rights is defined by what we as human beings are. Rights are defined according to human-centered criteria, and though Regan successfully applies these human-centered criteria to normal mammals aged one year or more, the criteria remain human centered. Only a handful of select entities, ones that share particular humanlike tendencies, qualify. Human-based criteria by which we measure anymals, such as selfconsciousness, are inadequate. Self-consciousness has been important to human beings largely because we see this as an attribute that separates us from anymals. This will need to change if anymals are to be fairly considered as candidates for rights. This human bias, rooted in our tendency to set ourselves apart from anymals, requires us to assess such important criteria critically before establishing a basis for rights of any kind—human rights included. 3. Undesirable Consequences a. Innocent Threats Regan defines “innocent threats” as dangerous moral patients (Case 293); he defines moral patients as inherently innocent (Case 294). A small child flinging poisonous darts randomly into a crowd constitutes an “innocent threat.” When an innocent threat endangers others it may be necessary to harm the innocent individual in order to avoid harm to others. Regan uses the example of a rabid dog and a rabid fox, indicating that in either case one might “harm”

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these dangerous yet innocent anymals in order to nullify imminent threat (Case 296, 353). Regan writes, if rabid foxes have “bitten some children and are known to be in the neighboring woods . . . and if the circumstances of their lives assure future attacks if nothing is done, then the Rights View sanctions nullifying the threat posed by these animals” (Case 353). Regan does not explain “nullify,” but generally to nullify the threat of a rabid fox is to kill the fox. The Rights View permits innocent threats to be eliminated to protect human life (Case 353). While the basic principle (allowing self-defense against innocent threats) seems reasonable, Regan fails to define the borders of this aggressive protective measure. Without limitations on what constitutes a “legitimate” threat, and in the absence of limits on what one may do in the name of self-defense against innocent threats, Regan’s Rights View opens the door to some morally repugnant possibilities. For example, moose roam backyards, city streets, and recreational areas in Anchorage, Alaska. Every year moose stomp people to death in fenced yards, on ski trails, and sometimes on the university campus. Everyone knows that dangerous encounters with moose will occur in the future, and that some such encounters will result in the death of human beings. On the basis of likely future endangerment as outlined by Regan (with regard to rabid foxes), killing potentially dangerous moose in Anchorage is acceptable because moose constitute an “innocent threat.” Similarly, grizzly bears sometimes attack and kill hikers on trails around Anchorage. The only way to prevent such incidents is to eliminate bears. (In most of the world, that is exactly what people have done.) Therefore, according to Regan’s Rights View bears and moose around Anchorage ought to be eliminated as a necessary precaution. If we extrapolate from Regan’s rabid fox example, taking this idea to its logical extreme, all moose and bear might justifiably be killed because they are always and everywhere innocent threats. The farther back into the wild country human beings venture, the more likely it becomes that people will encounter “dangerous” anymals, and the more likely it becomes that human lives will be lost. Ultimately, if taken to its extreme, any wild anymal that is potentially dangerous to human beings might be eradicated, including rattlesnakes, polar bears, black widow spiders, cougars, ticks—and many others. If we are impartial and consistent, as the Western philosophic tradition requires, Regan’s allowance for innocent threats not only risks the demise of carnivorous and poisonous species, but also places the

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lives of many people in jeopardy. Regan’s discussion of “innocent threats” deals with situations where moral patients harm moral agents, but he offers no indication that dangerous but innocent moral agents might not also be killed to protect moral agents and moral patients. People are often ignorant of the damage they do, but humans, more than any other animal, endanger life. To eliminate every other species when they pose an innocent threat, but not to eliminate humans in comparable situations, would be inconsistent and speciesist. The vast majority of Western hunters kill for recreation. They kill because they consider hunting a worthwhile and enjoyable way to spend time and because they (or someone they know) eats dead anymals. Few acknowledge (or even consider) that killing anymals for food is completely unnecessary for their survival, and that such “sport” causes tremendous hardship and harm to other living beings. (In fact, hunters usually assert that they do their victims a favor !) Thus hunters needlessly endanger and destroy thousands of anymals every year, and may be said to do so innocently (out of ignorance). Regan’s “innocent threats” clause justifies the killing of rabid foxes that might bite (out of fear or in self-defense). Consistency requires that his theory also permit the killing of ignorant—and therefore “innocent”— human beings who habitually and unnecessarily slaughter innocent anymals. To eliminate other species when they pose an innocent threat, but not to eliminate humans in comparable situations, is inconsistent. b. Loss of Innocence Regan asserts that those who have lost innocence through unjust actions “have no grounds to complain if we override their right not to be harmed and spare the victims of their past injustice” (Case 323). Injustices borne by some grant these beleaguered individuals privileges above those who perpetrate such injustices. He asserts, “Those who forge, as well as those who perpetuate injustice are not on the same moral footing as their innocent victims” (Case 323). Morality requires us to take into consideration “past injustices some have had to bear” (Case 323). “Those who are parties to such injustice lose the protection the miniride and worse-off principles provide and have no just grounds to complain if we override their right not to be harmed and spare the victims of their past injustice” (Case 323). This assertion has yet more counterintuitive implications. As noted, Regan posits a lifeboat with four humans and one dog

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vying for space. If one being must go overboard, Regan concludes that the dog ought always and perpetually to go overboard. This assertion is not consistent with Regan’s Rights View with regard to loss of innocence. If consistently applied, how would Regan’s view on “loss of innocence” affect these hapless sea-bound citizens? Regan notes that “animal agriculture, as we know it, is unjust” (Case 394). He writes, “Those who support current animal agriculture by purchasing meat have a moral obligation to stop doing so” (Case 394). He also notes that any hardship the anymal industries suffer due to a lack of economic support from conscientious objectors is irrelevant because “their voluntary participation in that business signals that they waive the right not to be made worse off if the business fails” (Case 394). In other words, the injustice of their acts toward cattle and pigs, chickens and turkeys, removes them from equal moral footing with others who are comparatively innocent. Similarly, those who continue to buy the bodies of slaughtered anymals in preference to eating rice with vegetables lose their equal moral footing by willfully choosing to exploit and destroy others. It is reasonable to assume that Regan would make a similar assertion about any common yet unnecessary human exploitation of anymals, from attending circuses to buying cosmetics tested on anymals. All human beings engaged in these practices, who support these markets, harm innocent victims exploited by these markets. People who engage in such acts have a moral obligation to change behavior that does not respect these subjects-of-a-life. Such consumers jeopardize their innocence. Determining “loss of innocence” in Regan’s Rights View requires scrutiny to discover whether or not individuals have willfully exploited others and gained through such choices. Indeed, according to Regan, those who capitalize on anymal agriculture have gained from harmful exploitation (Case 394). Those who support these industries and perpetuate such injustices are also guilty. Flesh and dairy–eaters, leather and fur–wearers, and those who have used other subjects-ofa-life for science projects—as well as any and all individuals who support these actions—have jeopardized their otherwise equal right not to be harmed. If even one of the humans on the lifeboat has been eating bits of bodies, bodies that once shared equal inherent value and the equal right not to be harmed in Regan’s Rights View, then the dog will certainly not be first overboard. On the contrary,

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loss of innocence for at least one of the four lifeboat-clinging humans is almost certain. As it turns out, the dog is the least likely to be thrown overboard. Furthermore, Regan clearly asserts that anymals are always innocent moral patients. Consequently, dogs (birds, cats, snakes, and any other anymal) cannot ever jeopardize their chance for a spot on the lifeboat by loss of innocence. Meanwhile, powerful, exploitative humans are almost always guilty of treating anymals as if they did not have equal inherent value—thereby forfeiting a place on the raft to their innocent victims—other animals. In any and all scenarios, humans are likely to have jeopardized their innocence in relation to—and with regard to—other species, while anymals always remain inherently innocent. Contrary to Regan’s conclusion, if those on a lifeboat are chucked overboard one by one, preserving those who have not suffered a “loss of innocence,” the survivor will almost surely be the dog. c. Obligation to Defend Regan states that moral agents have an obligation to defend a subject-of-a-life when such an individual’s equal right not to be harmed is violated. He writes that the onus of justification for harm done is always on one who brings about that harm. Unless or until we are shown how such harm is justified, we are rationally entitled to believe, and morally required to act, against such actions. Regan asserts that those who violate the rights of others are liable to sanction, and we are all morally obligated to participate in this process. Though Regan does not discuss where this duty begins or ends, or the difficulty of determining exactly when such rights are violated, he offers clear guidelines for action: A slave-trader does not do what is right by supplying his client with a promised slave, and he has no valid moral duty to do so, despite his promising. . . . [P]romises made in the name of the perpetuation of this institution are morally null and void. The same is true regarding society’s ‘contract’ with science and the supposed duty of scientists to carry out their end of the agreement by harming some animals so that others, both humans and animals, might benefit. This “contract” has no moral validity, according to the Rights View, because it fails to treat lab animals with the respect they are due. . . . [S]cience that routinely harms animals in pursuit of its goals is morally corrupt, because unjust at its core, something that no appeal to the “contract” between society and science can alter. (Case 390)

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Regan’s obligation to defend is clear on two counts: • Every moral agent is obligated to liberate subjects-of-a-life. • Moral agents are justified in breaching accepted moral standards and laws in the process of liberating subjects-of-a-life from unjust practices. According to Regan a moral agent is obligated to break contracts and ignore laws in order to fight against the meat industry, or to thwart the use of anymals in science. Regan also indicates that people are justified in forcing change on those who harm others: “If Heather violates the rights of those she cooks and eats when she cooks and eats them, then she has no grounds to complain that we violate her rights by stopping her” (Case 334). We are permitted to violate Heather’s rights in order to prevent her from eating the flesh of other subjects-of-a-life. Regan is unclear where these moral obligations begin and end, or how far they might carry one along the path of civil disobedience. Consequently, the possibilities are somewhat daunting. Are we obligated to unchain our neighbor’s dog? Must we forcefully liberate battery hens . . . or free-range hens? Does morality require us to engage in guerrilla tactics to set loose laboratory and zoo anymals? Beyond major lifestyle changes, is political activism enough, or must we step in on behalf of every black Angus bull and Barbary ape, every pink river dolphin and rock wallaby, every buff-faced pigmy parrot and tabby cat whose rights are violated? Perhaps Regan accepts all of these obligations. If he does not, he risks inconsistency; if he does, he invites chaos. The latter is philosophically acceptable; the former is not. d. Special Considerations Regan asserts that “the moral bonds between family members and friends [are] a special consideration that justifiably can override the otherwise binding application of the miniride and worse-off principles” (Case 316). Through these “special considerations,” Regan justifies protecting a familiar and preferred human at the greater expense of a stranger simply because “it is those closest to us whom we stand to help or harm most, and they, us” (Case 316). Regan argues that “the relationships between friends and loved ones are special” (Case 317) and therefore impartiality cannot be expected—impartiality is

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not preferred. Without this “special considerations” clause, Regan writes, one might be required to “spare the stranger at the expense of our loved one. And that is counterintuitive” (Case 315). Regan specifically protects basic rights from being toppled for “special considerations.” While no subject-of-a-life can be denied a right to life, based on Regan’s special considerations clause, they can be denied access to goods or opportunities due to personal relations. Consequently, Regan’s special interest clause threatens impartial application of the Rights View. Yet Regan’s special consideration clause seems to feed into the hand of self-interest: [L]ove relations are relations of self-interest, though deep ones. It is important to you that you choose that man or that woman, as friend, lover, spouse; that you are the parent of that child; and so for many other such cases . . .—you care for them more. If moral relations are generated essentially by rational agents promoting their own wellconsidered, long-run interests, these cases make sense. (Narveson, “On a Case” 36)

Self-interest is often at odds with morality. Clauses providing for special considerations have frequently been used in just such a self-interested manner—most infamously to defend racism, sexism, and speciesism. Feelings of attachment are often stronger between family members—and between human beings—than they are between strangers—or between species (Orlans 20). If we allow special considerations, as Regan does, human beings are apt to be granted special considerations over and above anymals (Rollin 43) . . . and perhaps certain powerful individuals will gain special moral status over other human beings: If it is permissible to have special regard for family or neighbours, why not one’s fellow species-members? The problem with this way of thinking is that there are lots of groups to which one naturally belongs, and these group-memberships are not always (if they are ever) morally significant. The progression from family to neighbour to species passes through other boundaries on the way—through the boundary of race, for example. (Rachels, Created 184)

How will Regan define “friend” and “family” in order to prevent racists and bigots from seeking advantages for those nearest and dearest? It does not logically follow that natural feelings, just because we have them, ought to be the basis of moral obligation. Regan’s

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special interests clause can be used to legitimize any and all special interests: speciesism, racism, and sexism. Regan seems to include this protective clause to prevent unsavory possibilities such as fathers neglecting their children to help more needy street urchins, or soldiers at war who might abandon comrades to help the wounded from across the lines. Regan states that such actions are counterintuitive because they deny fundamental bonds. His point is worth considering. It is important to remember that philosophers most often seek ideals, even if these ideals are considered extreme, and that utopian visions of philosophers have had a tremendous impact on our present world. To explore Regan’s special considerations clause, it seems useful to visualize a utopian world with no special considerations. In a completely egalitarian world each of us would deal with everyone else in the same manner. We would impartially help whoever was in the greatest danger—as we would do with our own loved ones. In times of crises we would make decisions via “moral triage,” helping those most in need rather than tending our loved ones first and foremost. Yes, fathers would leave their children temporarily, when necessary, in order to help other children who were more needy. And soldiers would cross the lines to help more seriously wounded on the other side—in fact there would be no “sides,” and no “soldiers.” Whoever was most in need would gain aid regardless of gender, race, family membership, or species. While we could all continue to have special people in our individual lives, we would not favor these people in ways that allowed others to suffer greater harms. Such an arrangement would end the very possibility of war and famine in a world of plenty. Is such a state of affairs really so bad? This vision seems neither counterintuitive nor negative, but in many ways ethically ideal. Conclusion Regan’s Rights View, especially as revealed in his lifeboat scenario, is sometimes inconsistent with his overall intent. Theoretical problems experienced in the extremes of lifeboat scenarios cannot harm the solid core of Regan’s work: His Rights View effectively exposes the moral inconsistency of offering rights exclusively to human beings while denying even the most basic rights to anymals. If one accepts

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human rights, in the absence of a morally relevant distinction between certain other mammals and human beings, Regan convincingly argues for a broader category of rights holders. Regan’s Rights View is detailed and far reaching. He provides a thorough and solid ground on which to base anymal rights, and he includes detailed criteria to offer guidance in diverse situations. Regan’s groundbreaking theory is a monumental philosophical achievement. The Rights View remains the most systematic and comprehensive anymal rights theory to date.

CHAPTER THREE

PETER SINGER: UTILITARIAN PROTECTIONISM

A. Singer’s Utilitarian Theory Peter Singer’s philosophy on which lives should be sustained and protected has been one of the most controversial topics in recent decades. He is perhaps the best known contemporary philosopher and has found an audience for his controversial work even among those who do not study philosophy. But Singer is not an advocate of animal rights, nor does he qualify as a bunny hugger—his first love was not Fluffy or Spot, but philosophy. Singer’s studies led him to utilitarianism, and this is where his protectionist work began. Singer realized the implications of utilitarian theory for animals— philosophical consistency required him to include anymals in his utilitarian moral theory. He was not interested in “pets,” but first and foremost in philosophical consistency, which called his attention to anymals. His work began to focus on ending oppression and exploitation, on reducing suffering in the world—all oppression and exploitation, all suffering (Singer, Writings 22). Toward this end, he wrote Animal Liberation, which extends utilitarianism to include anymals based on equal consideration of interests and sentience. 1. Utilitarianism Consequentialist moral theories claim that the morality of an action is determined by the consequences of that act. One ought to act in such a way as to bring about the greatest utility, to produce the greatest good. Consequentialists start not with moral rules but with goals. They assess actions by the extent to which they further these goals. The bestknown, though not the only, consequentialist theory is utilitarianism. The classical utilitarian regards an action as right if it produces as much or more of an increase in the happiness of all affected by it than any alternative action, and wrong if it does not. (Singer, Practical 3)

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Utilitarianism does not necessarily require that an action produce the greatest good for the greatest number, as is commonly assumed. Utilitarians generally agree that to achieve the greatest good it is sometimes necessary to harm the greatest number. For instance, this might be done in order to avoid more severe harm to a minority: If there are ten cannibals salivating over a small child, most utilitarians would agree that the greatest number (the ten cannibals) ought to suffer the unhappiness of thwarted desire, so that the small child might live. There are a handful of utilitarian theories, such as classical, rule, and preference utilitarianism, each of which uses a different method for assessing what acts yield the best consequences. Classical utilitarians, sometimes called hedonistic utilitarians (such as John Stuart Mill), measure utility in terms of maximizing pleasure and minimizing pain. Rather than weigh pleasures over pains on a case-bycase basis, rule utilitarians assert that rules can be established and then applied in a host of similar situations. Peter Singer is a preference utilitarian. Preference utilitarianism “judges actions, not by their tendency to maximize pleasure or minimize pain, but by the extent to which they accord with the preferences of any beings affected by the action or its consequences” (Singer, Writings 133). Singer determines preferences through interests. In his view a person’s interests are “what, on balance and after reflection of all the relevant facts, a person prefers” (Singer, Writings 133). His moral theory determines the best consequences of an action via the satisfaction of preferences rooted in interests. Like utilitarian philosophers before him, Singer asserts that we are interested in our own personal welfare; we have a “natural concern that [our] own interests be looked after” (Practical 12). Some moral theorists contend that it is “unreasonable to expect people to follow rules that have no basis in their interests, their reasons” (Narveson, Moral 16). Preference utilitarianism capitalizes on the basic fact that each of us has desires; we wish to satisfy our own personal preferences. Universalizing this interest, and applying reason, leads to a preference utilitarian theory by recognizing that my own interests cannot count for more, simply because they are my own, than the interests of others. In place of my own interests, I now have to take account of the interests of all those affected by my decision. This requires me to weigh up all these interests and adopt the course of action most likely to maximize the interests of

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those affected. Thus I must choose the course of action which has the best consequences, on balance, for all affected. This is a form of utilitarianism. It differs from classical utilitarianism in that ‘best consequences’ is understood as meaning what, on balance, furthers the interests of those affected, rather than merely what increases pleasure and reduces pain. (Singer, Practical 12–13)

While a utilitarian position may be reached by universalizing selfinterest, Singer is clear that self-interest should not guide morality. Singer asserts that reason is compatible with preference utilitarianism and that reason ought to guide morality; “reason is not subordinate to self-interest” (Practical 69). Morality requires us to determine a moral course of action through reason; we ought to “assess the moral claims of those affected by our actions independently of our feelings for them” (Singer, Practical 67). Rational thought and universalizing self-interest lead naturally to utilitarianism: self-interested actions become group oriented in order to achieve the greatest good for all those affected. 2. Sentience “At least since Epicurus in the fourth century BC, philosophers have suggested that all creatures seek pleasure and avoid pain” (Ryder, Animal 324). Singer’s work stems from the work of a handful of famous utilitarian philosophers, most notably Jeremy Bentham, who is often quoted by protectionists: “The question is not, Can they reason? nor Can they talk? but, Can they suffer?” (Bentham Ch. XVIII, Sec. 1). Bentham argued that because anymals have the capacity to feel pain, they ought to be morally considerable. While we cannot with legitimate reason discount interests or preferences based on one’s hair color, IQ , or length of toes, we need not be concerned with those who have no interests, no preferences whatsoever. Any being that can suffer will almost always have an interest in not suffering, Singer notes, and if we are to bring about the greatest utility, the best consequences for all concerned, we must take this preference, this personal interest into account. Consequently, Singer’s utilitarian scales weigh suffering and need— interests and preferences. Singer asserts that the ability to suffer is essential to having preferences, which stem from sentience (Practical 50). A piece of coal cannot have interests or preferences because it cannot suffer. An armadillo, on the other hand, has a central nervous

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system, can suffer, and has a strong tendency to prefer not to suffer. Interests are a morally relevant criterion that is not racist, sexist, or speciesist. Singer concludes, “If a being suffers, there can be no moral justification for refusing to take that suffering into consideration” (Practical 50). For Singer, “at least in our present state of knowledge,” only animals with a central nervous system are morally considerable (Singer, Unpublished; Singer, “Animals” 244). He concludes, the preferences of any being with a central nervous system, the preference of any being that might be affected by a given action, ought to be taken into account when making a moral determination (Singer, Practical 12). a. Equal Consideration of Interests Singer’s theory does not demand equal treatment for all sentient creatures, but it does require equal consideration of interests. Many philosophers admire utilitarianism for its “unity, its capacity to adjudicate non-arbitrarily between all competing moral claims” (Lockwood, “Singer” 158). In a world of human failings—prejudice and selfishness—there is much to be said for the egalitarian approach of utilitarianism. “Much of classical utilitarianism’s moral force is due to its scrupulous impartiality”; there is no room to disregard interests “on the grounds of race, sex, species, or intellect” (Pluhar 181). Equal consideration of interests does not take account of my interests, or the interests of Australians, or of whites. Equal consideration of interests requires us to move beyond personal or sectional points of view to take into account the interests of all those who will be affected. “True scales favor the side where the interest is stronger or where several interests combine to outweigh a smaller number of similar interests; but they take no account of whose interests they are weighing” (Singer, Practical 19). Singer insists that each individual carry no more weight than any other; each individual counts for one and nobody counts for more than one. The interests of any one individual are no more or less important than the interests of any other (Singer, Animal 5). Equal consideration of interests provides a basic principle of equality for Singer (Singer, Practical 19). From this point of view race is irrelevant to the consideration of interests; for all that counts are the interests themselves. To give less consideration to a specified amount of pain because that pain was

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experienced by a black would be to make an arbitrary distinction. Why pick on race? Why not on whether a person was born in a leap year? Or whether there is more than one vowel in her surname? All these characteristics are equally irrelevant to the undesirability of pain from the universal point of view. (Singer, Practical 19–20)

It is sentience that matters in Singer’s utilitarian scales. The severity of a pain “depends on how intense it is and how long it lasts, but pains of the same intensity and duration are equally bad, whether felt by humans or animals” (Practical 54). All sentient creatures have an interest in avoiding pain, and this preference is no less morally important in other sentient species than it is among human beings. To disregard sentience interests of those that don’t happen to belong to our particular species, according to Singer, is as irrational as ignoring the sentience interests of people from other races, age groups, or religions. Drawing a line concerning what constitutes a legitimate interest not to be harmed between Homo sapiens and anymals is arbitrary and speciesist. “Pain and suffering are bad and should be prevented or minimized, irrespective of the race, sex, or species of the being that suffers” (Practical 54). Equal consideration of interest requires us to ignore species and aptitude. Equal consideration of interests “implies that our concern for others ought not to depend on what they are like, or what abilities they possess” (Regan, Animal 155). For example, if we are willing to use canines, felines, and nonhuman primates in hope of discovering new medical cures, then we also ought to be willing to use human beings that are similar in morally relevant ways, such as severely and irreversibly brain-damaged people whom no one would miss. Singer concludes that people “show bias in favor of their own species whenever they carry out an experiment on nonhuman animals for purposes that they would not think justified them in using human beings at an equal or lower level of sentience, awareness, sensitivity, and so on” (Singer, Practical 59). [T]he fact that some people are not members of our race does not entitle us to exploit them, and similarly the fact that some people are less intelligent than others does not mean that their interests may be disregarded. . . . [T]he fact that beings are not members of our species does not entitle us to exploit them, and similarly the fact that other animals are less intelligent than we are does not mean that their interests may be disregarded. (Practical 49)

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Singer accepts that no two individuals are equal in their particular abilities, or in the nature of their individual interests, but argues that similar interests ought to be weighed equally. Races, genders, and age groups show different aptitudes, propensities, interests—as do species: “[E]quality is a basic ethical principle, not an assertion of fact” (Practical 18). Each individual, and each species is different, but they all have interests, and equal interests ought to be treated equally. We should make it quite clear that the claim to equality does not depend on intelligence, moral capacity, physical strength, or similar matters of fact. Equality is a moral ideal, not a simple assertion of fact. There is no logically compelling reason for assuming that a factual difference in ability between two people justifies any difference in the amount of consideration we give to satisfying their needs and interests. The principle of the equality of human beings is not a description of an alleged actual equality among humans: it is a prescription of how we should treat humans. (Singer, “All” 152)

There are no morally relevant differences, in Singer’s view, between races, genders, or species where suffering is concerned. This is not to say that there are no morally relevant differences between one species and another, only that species itself does not qualify as a morally relevant difference where sentience and suffering, and the preference to avoid suffering, are concerned. It is acceptable for one to make moral decisions based on species— in fact we must do so. For instance, a young red-toothed shrew stranded on a street-corner in New York City and a young Italian boy stranded on the same corner have very different needs, which correspond with different moral duties. Equal treatment might indicate that the Good Samaritan take both to a distant meadow and turn them loose. Only the shrew would benefit from such a wellintentioned sense of equality. This scenario, like most moral dilemmas, requires different actions for different individuals in order to bring about the best consequences. A Nubian burro need not be guaranteed employment, an elf owl need not be offered the right to a fair trial, and comatose patients do not need an exercise pen. Most of us, if we were trying to find just one parent for a tiny, orphaned girl, would choose a female Homo sapiens. Such a choice is based on considerations of both species and sex, but it is not morally reprehensible. Genders, age groups, races, and species all have different needs, interests, and preferences. Absolute equality is neither appropriate nor desirable. Certain moral distinctions—those based on morally relevant criteria—are legitimate

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even if based purely on gender or species; moral decisions based on species are only rejected if not based on morally relevant distinctions. There are many morally relevant differences between humans and anymals, between each species, and it is perfectly legitimate for such differences to lead to a variety of different moral obligations. Such different needs are not only true between species, but between individuals of the same species. Men have special needs—such as regular checkups for prostate cancer. Young people have different nutritional needs than older people. Each individual has her own particular set of interests, every one unique, which must be given equal consideration. This does not mean that all individuals must be given an equal chance to fulfill their particular interests. “Not all interests are equally compelling, as when one person on a date may desire casual sex and the other may not. In such a situation it would be wrong to think that an unbiased evaluation of the competing interests makes it a standoff ” (Finsen 183). Similarly, a leghorn chicken’s desire to live out the full extent of her life is more important than a human being’s desire to taste the flesh of a dead leghorn chicken. “Not all interests are equal, nor are all equally important to the individual holding them” (Finsen 183). Certain interests are legitimately given greater weight than others. Equal consideration of interests requires moral agents to take sentience and preferences into account when making ethical decisions, rather than make decisions based merely on species. “The basic principle of equality . . . is equality of consideration and equal consideration for different beings may lead to different treatment” (Regan, Animal 150). Absolute equality is neither necessary nor appropriate. Instead, Singer’s utilitarian theory requires equal consideration of interests. 3. Mental Capacity [M]any people’s ideas of morality, however diverse and however reluctantly extended to non-human species, centres ultimately on some aspect of what they perceive to be their “minds” or absence of them, such as whether they can think or feel or are aware of what they are doing. (M. S. Dawkins 6)

Mental capacities are relevant in Singer’s theory because he maintains that certain mental abilities sometimes influence capacity for suffering. He notes that entities with self-awareness, entities that can foresee

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misery, will have mental anxiety in addition to physical suffering. For example, a woman who knows she is dying and will leave unfinished engineering plans—over which she has labored for decades—will most likely experience anxiety over her unfinished work in addition to any suffering she might experience from her slow demise. A thinspined porcupine does not suffer such scholarly anxieties. Both the engineer and the porcupine would experience the physical pain of disease and dying, but Singer concludes that only human beings suffer additional psychological anxieties from unfinished tasks. Singer adds that while self-awareness affects levels of suffering, it does not always increase suffering. Sometimes a broader understanding can decrease misery (Singer, Practical 3). For instance, an injured long-tailed weasel, taken from the side of the road for medical care, would have greater fear and stress when handled by medics than would a human subject. The attention of a medic helps alleviate the fears of suffering people, but not the suffering of a wild animal. In Singer’s view certain mental capacities (such as the ability to experience terror, dread, and self-awareness) are the basis of a morally relevant distinction; entities that suffer from the experience of terror or anxiety prefer not to do so. Singer cautions, this does not mean that those with higher mental capabilities have a greater claim to moral consideration. First, a preference for avoiding terror must be given equal consideration with other similar preferences. Second, not all human beings are equally protected by this morally relevant distinction. For instance, inasmuch as it takes a certain mental capacity to feel anxiety or terror, human infants and some mentally disabled people do not experience these feelings, while many anymals do. If mental abilities are morally relevant, Singer asserts that justice and consistency require people to accept that some humans fall outside this protected category, while individuals from other species qualify and ought to be offered due protection. 4. Death and Killing While similar in many other respects, Singer differs radically from Regan on the issue of death and suffering. Singer asserts that the ethics involved in killing are “much more complicated” than the morality of inflicting suffering (Singer, Animal 228). For Singer, pain is pain, but the harm of death is relative to the entity that is killed

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and the method used to bring about an untimely death. Singer argues that taking certain lives quickly and painlessly neither harms nor helps those killed, and such killing is therefore not morally reprehensible: A rejection of speciesism does not imply that all lives are of equal worth. . . . It is not arbitrary to hold that the life of a self-aware being, capable of abstract thought, of planning for the future, of complex acts of communication, and so on, is more valuable than the life of a being without these capacities. To see the difference between the issues of inflicting pain and taking life, consider how we would choose within our own species. If we had to choose to save the life of a normal human being or an intellectually disabled human being, we would probably choose to save the life of a normal human being; but if we had to choose between preventing pain in the normal human being or the intellectually disabled one—imagine that both have received painful but superficial injuries, and we only have enough painkiller for one of them—it is not nearly so clear how we ought to choose. The same is true when we consider other species. The evil of pain is, in itself, unaffected by the other characteristics of the being who feels the pain; the value of life is affected by these other characteristics. (Animal 20–21)

Singer holds that the life of a “self-aware being” in effect has greater “value” than the life of a creature that does not hold this desirable quality. More specifically, Singer asserts that it is a greater wrong to kill a being that does not wish to be killed. A self-aware being has an interest in a continued life that cannot be shared by a being that does not have self-awareness. While both may suffer equally from any given pain, a self-aware being suffers more through death because that being prefers continued existence. Singer notes that this is not a speciesist division—severely braindamaged humans are not aware of their own being, while some nonhuman primates exhibit self-awareness. Anymals evidence such mental faculties in varying degrees. When asked who she saw in the mirror, the chimpanzee, Washoe, replied, “Me, Washoe” (Singer, Practical 94). Because self-awareness runs across species (as indicated by Washoe and other nonhuman primates), self-awareness is not species specific and is therefore not a speciesist criteria. If mental abilities such as self-awareness are morally relevant, as Singer assumes, some humans fall outside this protected category. Justice and consistency require that all who qualify as self-aware—primates and otherwise—be offered due protection.

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Summary Singer is a preference utilitarian. For Singer, moral standing is rooted in having interests; interests are the basis of individual preferences. He rejects actual equality in favor of equal consideration of interests. Singer states that species is morally irrelevant when pain and suffering are involved. He maintains that like interests ought to be treated in a like manner and asserts that all sentient creatures have an interest in avoiding harm. He offers a utilitarian moral theory intent on maximizing the satisfaction of preferences of sentient creatures. Singer’s work has helped bring protectionist philosophy—particularly speciesism—to the forefront of classrooms, to the mainstream media, and to audiences all over the Western world. Singer is perhaps the most widely known contemporary philosopher, largely due to his ongoing, controversial work in the field of ethics and anymals. B. Discussion Utilitarianism, based on pleasures and pains, is at the root of the simplicity that has made Singer’s work popular, but utilitarianism entails difficult philosophic problems. Two common objections to Singer’s work seem unfounded, but serious problems do arise in his utilitarian theory, including practicability, expendability, and Singer’s use of sentience and mental capacity. His objections to speciesism, however, stand. 1. Common Concerns a. Asserting New Boundaries Singer’s theory rejects common, species-based distinctions. Opponents ask, “Where does sentience begin?” Which beings can legitimately be considered self-aware? If we manage to include every human being under our ethical canopy—including one born without any brain at all—can interests be the final criterion? Singer admits that drawing a line at the boundaries of sentience is difficult. He does not answer these questions. Instead, he notes that we are keeping brain-dead humans alive on expensive hospital machines while denying freedom of movement, adequate nutrition, mother’s care, and life itself to otherwise healthy, sentient anymals. He concludes that the pressing question is not where to draw a new line, but how to begin the process of uprooting extant speciesist atti-

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tudes and actions. Drawing new lines will be a relevant concern at some point in the future—but it is not relevant in light of today’s flagrantly speciesist practices. Singer’s response seems rational and reasonable in light of the current situation for anymals in Western cultures in contrast with our treatment of human life. b. Devaluing Human Life Singer’s critics accuse him of being willing to sacrifice mentally deficient, helpless human infants to the cause of science, rather than fully sentient, functional “laboratory” anymals. But Singer states plainly: “[T]he aim of my argument is to elevate the status of animals rather than to lower the status of any humans. . . . I would like our conviction that it would be wrong to treat mentally defective humans in this way to be transferred to non-human animals at similar levels of self-consciousness and with similar capacities for suffering” (Practical 68). Those who object that Singer’s work devalues human life misrepresent his plainly stated intent—and the whole point of utilitarianism. Singer does not wish to increase but to decrease suffering by maximizing the satisfaction of interests. “Singer is in favor of increasing protections for vulnerable animals and humans” (Orlans 24). He even stresses the importance of mental capacities, which cannot help but provide yet more protection to the vast majority of human beings over and above anymals. Those who object to Singer’s work on the grounds that it devalues human life are, in truth, simply restating their objection to the fact that Singer’s work values the lives of animals—all of them, LaMancha goats, common snipe, human beings, and the Barbary lion (had this largest of lions not been crowded out of its habitat and hunted to extinction in the last century). Singer cannot legitimately be accused of devaluing human life. 2. Problems Associated with Utilitarianism a. Practicability Some philosophers favor utilitarianism for its theoretical simplicity. Utilitarianism is simple in theory, but difficult—if not impossible—to employ. Singer fails to demonstrate the means by which his theory might be implemented. How might he conclusively determine the best consequences, based on a utilitarian assessment of pleasures and pains,

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in any one actual situation? Applying Singer’s simple utilitarian equation to any given instance is by no means simple. Can we apply utilitarian protectionist theory to determine what we ought to do regarding the ivory trade? How do pain, suffering, loss of life, and thwarted opportunities of an African elephant or Pacific walrus weigh against the incomes of assorted Africans or Inuits? What of other individuals that will be affected if the tusks of anymals are no longer available for human use, such as • • • • • •

killers that kill animals and sell tusks to smugglers, smugglers that smuggle ivory out of the country and sell to artists, artists who carve tusks and sell to dealers, dealers who sell to shopkeepers, shopkeepers who sell to consumers, and consumers who enjoy ivory products?

Can we create and use a utilitarian calculation on the ivory trade? Does the utilitarian equation shift if the human beings cannot survive without the ivory trade? What if tusks are simply cut off of a live elephant? What if detusked elephants are thereby placed at jeopardy? How might scales of utility accommodate the divergent interests involved in such diverse possibilities? Similarly, a shift from flesh-based to vegetable-based food industries would, in one way or another, have an impact on almost every extant individual in the free-market economy. If we consider loss of income, where might our assessment end? Would we consider the interests of those who supply knives to slaughterhouses? What about steelworkers (those who make knife sharpeners), and the many people employed to produce, harvest, package, store, and sell food for these doomed pigs and chickens? What of those who provide electricity to butcher shops—dam builders and maintenance crews that supply electricity and millions of gallons of water, to maintain cattle and pigs? Do we consider those who sell transport trucks? Gas stations and road workers who keep trucks on the road? Those who might take pleasure, or suffer great pains, in watching truckloads of sheep pass on the freeway? Must we calculate the losses to spouses and children of each business and every employee who will be affected by such a change? Is there some way to implement utilitarian theory—with all that must be calculated—to answer moral questions? Perhaps one could

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address the central equation first, leaving other resultant pleasures and pains (such as those of job loss) as secondary. To assess the utility of dietary choice, perhaps we should focus on calculating the amount of pleasure gained by eating meat that would not occur if we were to eat only vegetable dishes (Gruzalski 260). If this is the case, the core equation is simple: meat diet versus vegetable diet. Singer does just this. He focuses on primary interests: Does a flesh or a nonflesh diet leave more interests satisfied? This approach makes sense; if no one finds more satisfaction through eating flesh, it would be pointless to perpetuate the meat industry purely for the financial needs of those currently involved in this line of work. If eating vegetables is more compatible with interests, then we might reasonably ask what method of phasing out farms would yield the best consequences. But if the scales of utility tip toward flesh eating, we will need to ask what sort of anymal care and slaughter is ethically preferable, in which case a new utilitarian equation emerges for consideration. This process enhances understanding of key considerations. Singer weighs the pleasures and pains of eating flesh versus eating vegetables, and concludes that there is no utilitarian gain for flesh eating (“Utilitarianism” 333). Considerable evidence indicates that there is no health gain to be had by eating flesh (on the contrary); nonflesh-eaters argue that there is also no culinary gain. Therefore, Singer finds no grounds on which to justify the subjugation, exploitation, and slaughter of millions of anymals for a food choice that offers no benefits whatsoever. Using this simplified approach Singer lists the following gains inherent in a vegetarian diet: • • • • •

an end to excessive suffering of food-industry anymals, no culinary sacrifice, increase in grain available to feed hungry humans, health improvements, environmental benefits (“Utilitarianism” 332–34).

Singer notes that a vegetarian diet involves financial losses for those who gain financially from flesh industries, but he adds that this is a one-time loss and therefore easily outweighed by long-term considerations. “Compare the indefinite prolongation of animal suffering with the once-only cost of a transition, and I think that as long as we give the interests of animals equal consideration with similar human

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interests, the answer is clear” (“Utilitarianism” 334). The solution, then, is to close down the flesh-production lines. Unfortunately, what seems clear to Singer is not so clear to the flesh-eating majority. How ought the preference utilitarians to proceed if those weighing relevant factors on utilitarian scales disagree on the outcome? Focusing on the primary question—flesh diet versus nonflesh diet— avoids a critical point: the “food-anymal” industry already exists. Substitute foods will be developed and will create “new employment and new economic opportunities,” but the change will be painful for many (Finsen 214). These harms cannot fairly be removed from Singer’s utilitarian equation. If the equation had been worked out before the advent of agribusiness, Singer could reasonably focus only on dietary matters, or world hunger, or the conditions and deaths of anymals, and it would have been clear that the anymal-killing industries ought never to begin. However, in the early twenty-first century, this mammoth business cannot be eliminated without creating hardship for millions. Hindsight provides excellent clarity of vision, but cannot erase what already exists. Maybe individuals are sufficiently different so as to preclude comparisons of interests, happiness, or suffering under any circumstances. Two people can go through identical experiences with considerably different responses. When my sister and I went to the doctor as children for the same injections, the pitiful cries of my sister might lead someone in the waiting room to believe she was suffering much more than I. Was she? How can we know? On what grounds can we compare suffering across species if we cannot even compare with any certainty the pain suffered by two sisters receiving the same medical care? How can we assess the pleasures of those eating a body-based diet against those of vegetarians? Meat eaters tend to assume that the pleasures of flesh eating are unique, and without a method for measuring pleasures, who can argue with their personal preference? Few vegetarians are likely to agree that this is the case. Those with a flesh-based diet who believe giving up flesh is a tremendous culinary loss are not apt to give up meat long enough to offer dependable comment on the differences. People react in very different ways to similar stimuli and no one can reasonably negate another person’s experience. “Given the difficulty of measuring preferences, or pain and plea-

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sure, in any objective fashion . . . it is impossible to convince a skeptic . . . that the overall pain caused by eating meat is greater than the pleasure” (Telfer 73). We each move from our own worldview: An economist is likely to argue that money makes the world go around, while a minister is likely to believe that this function is filled by faith, religion, and ultimately God. Similarly, flesh eaters and vegetarians tend to view dietary choice through personal lenses. How can subjective opinions be compared on the scales of utility? Even if we could weigh subjective opinions, there is no unit of value with which to calculate pleasure or pain, or preferences. The effectiveness of “simple” utilitarianism is further thwarted by a lack of dependable tools for measuring pleasure and pain (or preferences and interests). How might Singer measure Suzie’s preference for flesh eating against the society’s health interest in having citizens partake of a nonflesh diet? If we had a unit of measure to apply to this equation, we could determine once and for all which diet is more satisfactory: vegetarian or flesh. But we do not have such a unit of measure. In the absence of an objective unit by which to measure interests or pleasures, it is difficult to apply utilitarianism. To be effective, “there must be principles which determine how these reasons for and against are to be weighed” (Sprigge, “Metaphysics” 137). Moral intuition suggests to most people that loss of liberty, suffering, and loss of life for billions of farmed anymals will always outweigh loss of income or culinary pleasure—that life ought to be protected above economic gain or dietary pleasure. But Singer does not accept moral intuition as a legitimate philosophical guideline (“Utilitarianism” 9, 327). (Nor are Singer’s moral intuitions likely to align with common sentiments in Western societies!) Yet in the absence of a clearly defined unit of measure, Singer’s conclusions look very much like moral intuitions—entirely subjective. The issue of flesh eating is comparatively straightforward. Other protectionist issues entail more complicated epistemological questions. If we are going to use utilitarian scales in determining whether or not to experiment on human infants, can we answer critical questions? Are we able to calculate how many unwanted, orphaned infants might reasonably be sacrificed for the benefit of a certain number of others? Will we be able to figure out a measurement for agony and benefits in order to be able to tell how much agony is justified for a particular quantity of benefit? How certain must we be of the

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success of an experiment before we can engage in a given procedure (Ryder, Animal 326)? How can we answer these questions if we do not know the interests of each species—of each entity—and if we have no unit of measurement? Additionally, Singer is unable to establish a line at which sentience is no longer a concern. Do we need to consider the interests of earwigs? How can we be sure whether or not a horsehair worm can suffer? If it does suffer, how might we compare its suffering in a particular instance with the suffering of a rare and mysterious ayeaye in a similar situation? Most people believe that there are great differences in the capacities of various anymals to experience pain, and perhaps there is. How can we know what any creature, outside of ourselves, feels? “Only God can aggregate the pains and pleasures of others and only then if he or she can actually feel them” (Ryder, “Painism” 203). In the absence of godlike knowledge—for many, in the absence of God—Singer’s theory is difficult to implement. Moral dilemmas are not as straightforward or tidy as mathematical equations. As it turns out, we can neither experience nor measure the pains or pleasures of others; we cannot weigh interests as if they could be set on scales. How can we compare them? Yet weighing harms and benefits is not entirely without value. Singer’s work follows a long-standing and respected moral tradition of weighing harms and benefits in order to determine what one ought to do. Each of us weighs options in life, and the interests and pleasures we attach to each. Parents weigh how best to invest their resources for the advantage of children; people weigh pleasures in spending time with different people and choose accordingly. Even Western legal systems weigh harms and benefits. For instance, the most notable distinction between murder and attempted murder is one of harm done. The criminal is no less guilty for having failed in her attempt to kill, yet the crime is categorized separately and tends to carry a lesser punishment. Why wouldn’t such criminals be punished more harshly for being incompetent in addition to being a murderer? Because punishment is related to harm done, and the competent and successful murderer has definitely done more damage than the inept failure. Because we use the scales of utility both in our personal lives and in our legal system, perhaps Singer’s theory will eventually reach a functional state of institutionalized categorization with regard to harms and benefits, at least with regard to certain situations. Until such a time, however, it is difficult to employ Singer’s scales of utility.

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b. Expendability of Life Tom Regan criticizes Singer’s theory for failing to value life, but Singer asserts that utilitarianism maintains the value of individual lives: [U]tilitarians and others who are prepared to harm individuals . . . will view those they are harming, along with those they are benefiting, as equally possessing inherent value. They differ with Regan only in that they prefer to maximize benefits to individuals, rather than to restrict such benefits by requirement that no individual may be harmed. . . . The principle of equal consideration of interests, which is the foundation of utilitarianism as well as of many other ethical views, fully satisfies the demand that we recognize the inherent value of subjectsof-a-life. (Singer, Animal 11, 13)

Singer’s utilitarian theory ascribes an instrumental value to life. He weighs pleasures and pains to determine which action will bring about the best consequences for all affected. If the life of an ibis must hang in the balance while we determine which actions will bring about the best consequences for all affected, how can the ibis be said to have inherent value? Singer might argue that the best outcome for the ibis is as relevant as the best outcome for all other individuals. If her interests are given equal consideration, the ibis is granted inherent value—but not absolute inherent value. Absolute value protects the lives of individuals first and foremost, all things being equal. In Singer’s theory each life is valued in relative proportion to all other sentient beings. Each individual is viewed as a member of a larger group, where tradeoffs for the greater good are permissible and desirable. Singer’s theory acknowledges the “value” of sentient entities by focusing on the reduction of pain. Why would one wish to increase happiness, or reduce suffering, if individuals have no value? Singer’s theory does not overtly ascribe inherent value to any one entity, yet by seeking the best consequences for all affected, Singer offers each individual a measure of de facto inherent value, because each entity’s interests are considered. Individuals are expendable in Singer’s work. In this sense Singer’s theory fails to value life in and of itself; he accepts the destruction of life as a means to an end. Singer’s theory indicates that it would “be justifiable to experiment on a brain-damaged human. If it really were possible to save several lives by an experiment that would take just one life, and there were no other way those lives could be saved, it would be right to do the experiment (Singer, Animal 85). For

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utilitarians like Singer, who focus on the satisfaction of interests, individuals can be sacrificed for the greater good. Ethics in Western countries tend to focus on individual rights, starting with the right to life. Singer’s protectionist theory does not advocate for rights of any kind. Some critics have noted Singer’s unwillingness to accept rights philosophically, as opposed to his willingness to employ the concept of rights in activism; some have considered this a flaw in his work. Singer discusses “rights,” for example, in his work for the Great Ape Project, of which he is a founding member. The Great Ape Project demands “the extension of the community of equals to include all great apes: human beings, chimpanzees, bonobos, gorillas and orang-utans” which would require that moral agents “accept certain basic moral principles or rights as governing our relations” with these other species (“Declaration”). For some philosophers there is something suspicious about Singer’s interest in extending moral rights to all Great Apes while admitting that moral rights are “mysterious” (Crisp, “Teachers” 99). I was troubled by this inconsistency and asked Singer in person whether or not he thought human rights were merely a figment of human imagination, and if not, why he used this notion to define his Great Ape Project. Singer explained that he used this term simply for the sake of expediency, to discuss the intent of the Great Ape Project in commonly understood language—the language of rights. Westerners unquestioningly accept the existence of human rights, thereby granting the existence of rights. Singer added: If you do not accept the notion of human rights, “you are more radical than I am” (Singer, Personal). There is something to be said for expedience in critical matters of applied moral philosophy. In his efforts to reach as wide an audience as possible, Singer uses language that is likely to be easily understood (Singer, “A Response” 292). Singer does not assert the existence of rights as part of his moral philosophy. For some this seems dangerous. For Singer, self-conscious beings do not automatically have a “right to life.” Singer accepts the loss of life as a means to an end; he writes that it would “be justifiable to experiment on a braindamaged human. If it really were possible to save several lives by an experiment that would take just one life, and there were no other way those lives could be saved, it would be right to do the experiment” (Singer, Animal 85). Even painful experiments on unwilling subjects can be justified via beneficial consequences (Ryder, Animal 325). Some do not favor such expedience.

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Regan objects yet more to Singer’s assertion that “killing a selfconscious being would be justified if this brought about the optimal aggregate balance of pleasure over pain for those affected” (Case 210). (Technically, Singer’s theory is based on the outcome that brings the best consequences for all those affected, but Singer indicates that the aggregate balance of pleasure over pain amounts to the same thing.) Some nonutilitarians object that the goal of achieving the greatest good for the greatest number “reduces all beings to resources” that might be used to attain this ultimate goal; “individuals can be appropriately sacrificed for the greater good” (diZerega 31). Singer’s protectionist theory trades off the lives of some for the possible benefit of others (Regan, “Dog” 56). In a moral theory in which killing some members to benefit others becomes both possible and ethical, marginalized individuals are at risk. Singer’s utilitarian tendency to trade lives off, one against another, is epitomized in his “replaceability” argument. In order to maximize utility, Singer asserts that certain individuals ought to be replaced by entities that are better able, or more likely, to satisfy interests and increase overall happiness. The “replaceability argument” permits killing animals (human or otherwise) that have no conception of themselves as existing in the future, provided such individuals lead a pleasant life beforehand, are killed painlessly, and are replaced by beings that will have equally pleasant lives. Singer notes that this view seems counterintuitive (especially since children and severely retarded individuals fall into this “replaceable” category). Yet he concludes that such replacements maximize satisfaction of interests, and utilitarian expedience allows killing comparatively less happy or less successful individuals in order to maximize overall satisfaction of interests. Dale Jamieson, questioning the expendability of life, provides fodder for pondering replaceability. He offers an example consisting of two parents who plan to have only a certain number of children, and who have one exceptionally miserable child. He asks: Would not their chances of bringing more happiness into the world be higher if they were to eliminate the misery-child and conceive another in its place? If one entity can be replaced with another that is happier, is not a moral utilitarian compelled to sacrifice the less happy for the sake of the happier ( Jamieson, “Killing” 142–145)? (Singer would factor in any anxiety such a moral imperative brings to parents of unhappy children; no doubt parents would have to be allowed to choose to eliminate unhappy children for such a morality to yield

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utilitarian value.) Still, it is fair to ask if Singer’s theory not only permits but requires the death of such a misery-child. Michael Lockwood offers another challenge to Singer’s “replaceability argument” via the creation of a company he calls “Disposapup.” This hypothetical company breeds pups to provide pets for families. “Disposapup” also takes dogs back and disposes of them, by putting them painlessly to death, whether because the family wishes to go on vacation, because their pup has grown beyond the cute and cuddly stage, or because the family has altogether lost interest in having a dog. In the future, if the family wants a dog, “Disposapup” can give them a fresh start with a cute and cuddly puppy (Singer 168). Lockwood and Jamieson demonstrate morally repugnant possibilities embedded in Singer’s replaceability argument. These surprising outcomes appear to stem from errors in Singer’s reasoning. In “Killing Humans and Killing Animals” Singer examines two utilitarian outlooks: The “total view” indicates that ethical actions will always “increase the total surplus of pleasure over pain, irrespective of whether this is done by increasing the pleasure of existing beings, or increasing the number of beings who exist” (147). In contrast, the “prior existence view” considers only the pleasure and pains of beings that already exist (Singer, “Killing” 148). Singer opts for the “total view” because he finds an inconsistency in the “prior existence view”: “[I]f the pleasure a possible child will experience is not a reason for bringing it into the world, why is the pain a possible child will experience a reason against bringing it into the world?” (Singer, “Killing” 148). Singer discounts the “prior existence view” based on this suspicious asymmetry, and opts for the “total view,” which leads him to the “replaceability argument.” The asymmetry Singer notes seems to result from Singer’s wording of the question, rather than from any problem in the “prior existence view.” In his discussion of the “total view,” Singer assumes that any given life generally counts as a “pleasant life,” unless otherwise described: [I]t does not seem wrong for the government of an underpopulated country to encourage its people to have more children so that the population will rise by, say, one million. Yet of this million, we can be sure that at least one will be thoroughly miserable. If it is not wrong to create the million, but would be wrong to create the single miserable being, the obvious explanation is that there is value in the creation of the 999,999—or however many it will be—whose lives are happy. (“Killing” 150)

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Singer assumes that lives—except the minuscule quantity that are undeniably miserable—are correctly assumed to be “happy,” and are therefore rightly brought into the world in order to bring about net utilitarian gain. Bernard Rollin comments: “Most of us probably will have more suffering in our lives than pleasure” (34). Singer assesses existence for the vast majority of human beings, certainly for the average human, to be an undisputed positive/pleasure. Are not the myriad sentiments of life more complicated? It seems more reasonable to assign a neutral or mixed value to life. A not-yet-conceived entity is necessarily an unknown, but will most likely find a mixture of both pleasure and pain throughout life. Some beings, born with diseases or mental defects, are likely to experience increased suffering from medical treatments, torment in youth, exclusion from activities, and uncertain futures. Concurrently, the anguish of parents, extended family, and friends is usually heightened by the birth and life of a child that is physically or mentally abnormal. This is not to say that there is no pleasure in the life of one born outside the norm, only that it is reasonable to assume that the pain ratio will be higher in the birth of an abnormal child—for the child, the parents, and all involved. If we rewrite Singer’s conundrum, eliminating his assessment of most lives as an automatic (and it would seem exclusive) pleasure, the question looks very different: If the pleasure and pain a normal child is apt to experience is not a reason for bringing it into the world, why is the certain increased pain of a defective child a reason against bringing it into the world? The question no longer appears asymmetrical or perplexing. If the anticipated mix of pleasure and pain is altered so that increased pain is expected, one might reasonably choose not to parent. If the average life is not erroneously calculated as exclusively “pleasure,” Singer’s reason for rejecting the “prior existence view” (an asymmetry created by a fallacious assumption) evaporates. In this case Singer probably would have opted for the “prior existence view,” thereby avoiding the counterintuitive conclusions of the “replaceability argument” highlighted by Jamieson and Lockwood. Singer’s view on painless death seems equally problematic. Michael Allen Fox attacks Singer’s assumption that an individual with no sensation has no interests and need not be treated with any consideration. Fox brings to light a

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chapter three rare but thoroughly documented condition called “congenital universal indifference (or insensitivity) to pain,” which is characterized by complete absence, throughout life, of any pain-sensing capability. But if the capacity to experience pain is missing, any rights predicated on it must vanish as well. In addition, completely anesthetized, hypnotized, or deeply comatose human beings lack the capacity in question and hence, too, any corresponding rights. (110)

Fox misrepresents Singer’s utilitarian theory as a theory based on rights, and he neglects to consider complexities. (For example, Singer takes mental suffering, and the suffering of relatives and friends into account.) Nonetheless, Fox’s argument is worth exploring; his objection holds with regard to beings that have no sensation, in the event that no one else is affected, and so long as there is no mental anguish involved. However unlikely this scenario may be, the philosophical point is plain: Most of us would not think it right to do whatever we wish to such an individual. Singer’s “replaceability argument” permits painless death, a second flaw in Singer’s work. “When animals lead pleasant lives, are killed painlessly, their deaths do not cause suffering to other animals, and the killing of one animal makes possible its replacement by another who would not otherwise have lived—the killing of non-self-conscious animals may not be wrong.” In short, “the wrongness of killing amounts to no more than the reduction of pleasure it involves” (Singer, Practical 104). If extant pleasure is maintained, no wrong is done. Singer’s argument seems to ignore several important issues. First, his conclusion ignores the likely possibility that sentient beings have an interest in staying alive. All living entities are “psychologically oriented to escape death and to pursue the goals appropriate to their kind—which speaks against the idea that it is normally acceptable to painlessly kill healthy sentient beings lacking a high degree of selfawareness” (P. Taylor, Respect 252). Does thwarting preference to survive constitute harm? On what grounds can thwarted preference not constitute a valid harm in Singer’s preference utilitarianism? Second, not only do some individuals fail to increase overall happiness, they may be a significant detriment to overall happiness. Singer fails to consider situations in which the death of an individual would bring great pleasure to others. If a man beats his wife, cat, kids, and dog; if he steals from his relatives, threatens coworkers, goes hunting every weekend, and eats his neighbors (he lives between a hog-farm and a cattle ranch), would not his elimination be preferable? If so,

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Singer’s utilitarian equation indicates that unrepentant flesh eaters, fur wearers, hunters, and other ruthless exploiters of sentient beings ought to be eliminated in order to raise overall happiness or pleasure, in order to satisfy more interests (namely those of exploited anymals). When does an individual cause so much pain and suffering to others that the utilitarian scales vote against her or his existence? In Singer’s view killing is acceptable so long as death is painless, the individual is replaced, and no other creatures are affected (through loss of a mate, of offspring, or of any member of their social group). Singer asserts that if these conditions are met there is no reason to oppose killing. He writes that “an infant who is ‘allowed to die’ ends up just as dead as one who is killed” (In Defense 8). This brings me to my third point: Singer fails to consider the effects of killing, both on the one who makes the kill and on the community in which such a killer lives. Singer might argue that killing leads to no ill effects if one feels she is doing the right thing—that killing is what ought to be done under the circumstances, and that engaging in a just act of destruction prevents ill effects. Such an assertion flies in the face of evidence gathered from war veterans, those who experiment on anymals, and even slaughterhouse workers. Evidence indicates that killing—even rubber-stamped, institutionalized killing for the “benefit of humanity”—has a negative effect on those who do the deed (Eisnitz). An employee at Biosearch Laboratories, where anymals are exploited in hopes of human gain, is reported to have said, “Once you’ve been here a few days, you lose respect for all living things” (Orlans 132). Educators in human and veterinary medicine, while requiring a heavy dose of anymal experimentation from their students, repeatedly ask why students arrive “sensitive, concerned, idealistic, morally aware, and suffused with a desire to promote health and alleviate illness and suffering, yet emerge four years later cynical, hardened, brutalized, and rigid, their ideals and enthusiasm forgotten” (Rollin 110). Could it be, at least in part, that moral sensibilities are breached by experimenting on the very beings veterinary students hope to heal? Statistics from slaughterhouse employees reveal a similar but more dramatic “hardening” of moral sensibilities. Gail Eisnitz conducted an extensive survey of slaughterhouse workers; her subjects admitted to excessive, unnecessary cruelty toward the anymals they perpetually kill. A fairly typical slaughterhouse employee reported:

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chapter three The worst thing, worse than the physical danger, is the emotional toll. If you work in that stick pit for any period of time [killing pigs], you develop an attitude that lets you kill things but doesn’t let you care. You may look a hog in the eye that’s walking around down in the blood pit with you and think, God, that really isn’t a bad-looking animal. You may want to pet it. Pigs down on the kill floor have come up and nuzzled me like a puppy. Two minutes later I had to kill them—beat them to death with a pipe. I can’t care . . . . Every sticker [slaughterhouse killer] I know carries a gun, and every one of them would shoot you. Most stickers I know have been arrested for assault. A lot of them have problems with alcohol. They have to drink, they have no other way of dealing with killing life, kicking animals all day long. If you stop to think about it, you’re killing several thousand beings a day. (Eisnitz 87)

Even when killing is considered “legitimate,” “necessary,” and even when condoned by the vast majority, those who kill are affected by deaths they cause. In turn, the societies they live in suffer. Eisnitz’s survey reveals that slaughterhouse employees are commonly in and out of prison, they frequently batter family members, and such people are too often able and willing to wield weapons, even against humans. Slaughterhouse owners also reveal moral numbness. Eisnitz found that workers are sometimes required to use dangerous machines they have not been trained to operate. It is not uncommon for workers to be crushed by cattle, burned by chemicals, stabbed by poking knives, or to lose limbs and body parts in machinery. Eisnitz discovered that “with nearly thirty-six injuries or illnesses for every one hundred workers, meat packing is the most dangerous industry in the United States” (Eisnitz 271). She found in slaughterhouses “a system that places nearly as little value on human life as . . . on animal life” (Eisnitz 273). Gail Eisnitz’s study indicates that the negative impact of killing is intense and extensive, even when killing is socially acceptable. Her conclusion is not unexpected. For centuries philosophers have assumed that cruelty toward anymals begets cruelty toward people (Hoff 63–64). Kant believed: If a man shoots his dog because the animal is no longer capable of service, he does not fail in his duty to the dog, for the dog cannot judge, but his act is inhuman and damages in himself that humanity which it is his duty to show towards mankind. If he is not to stifle his human feelings, he must practice kindness toward animals, for he who is cruel to animals becomes hard also in his treatment of men. (Kant 240)

Indeed, recent research indicates that a lack of respect for any living being is associated with a lack of respect for life in general. In

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1983 a study linked anymal abuse to child abuse, revealing that “88% of the families in which physical abuse took place also had animals that were abused” (DeViney 311). Those who were insensitive to dogs and cats were likely to be insensitive to their own children. The following quote, from Canadian Veterinary Journal, was first published in 1992: Research documented . . . a triad of symptoms, closely associating cruelty to animals, physical abuse by one or both parents, and violence toward people . . . . Spectacular anecdotal incidents among serial killers enhanced this research. Mass murderer Theodore Bundy claimed he had spent his early years with a grandfather who assaulted people and tormented animals; circumstantial evidence linked him to animals’ graves. Albert DeSalvo, the “Boston Strangler,” in his youth shot arrows into dogs and cats trapped in orange crates . . . Carroll Edward Cole, executed in 1985 for five of the 35 murders of which he was accused, said his first act of violence as a child was to strangle a puppy. James Huberty, who killed 21 at a McDonald’s restaurant in San Ysidro, California, had been accused of shooting his neighbor’s dog with an airgun. Earl Shriner . . . sexually mutilating a seven-year-old boy in Tacoma, Washington, had a juvenile history of stringing up cats, sticking firecrackers up the anuses of dogs, and slaughtering chickens. In 1975, neighbors photographed the skulls of animals impaled in the yard of Jeffrey Dahmer, imprisoned this year for dismembering of 17 men in Milwaukee. None of these early incidents were reported to authorities. (Arkow 409–410)

Though we humans tend to be proud of our brainpower, most would agree that intelligence does not, and cannot, make us truly human. (Presumably there is a reason why the word “human” looks very much like the word “humane.”) What most would consider classically “human” is somewhat illusive, but we tend to agree that whatever it is, it is likely to be damaged or demeaned by willfully causing suffering or the unnecessary destruction of life. To destroy life, even for the sake of aggregate happiness, threatens something more fundamental than pleasure. An ever-increasing body of evidence links violence toward anymals with violence toward humans. Those “who cannot be trusted with animals often cannot be trusted with human beings either; a child who enjoys torturing small animals had better not be left alone with the baby” (Warren 51). A baby that dies because we cannot keep her alive will be just as dead as one overtly killed, but the emotional and social consequences are worlds apart. Singer’s replaceability argument is flawed because he categorizes lives that are both happy and sad as singularly happy. His acceptance of

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painless death is problematic because Singer, a preference utilitarian, ignores the preference of almost every living being to maintain existence. Finally, Singer’s replaceability argument does not take into account the effect of killing on the one killed, or on their larger community. Indeed, “as long as Man continues to be the ruthless destroyer of the lower beings, he will never know health or peace. For as long as men massacre animals, they will kill each other. Indeed, he who sows the seeds of murder and pain cannot reap joy and love” (Marshall 70). 3. Sentience Singer bases his utilitarian theory on sentience (and mental attributes, to be discussed next), yet he does not demonstrate how either of these might be ascertained for all relevant species, nor does he adequately defend the interest of sentience against contending interests. Ninety-five percent of all the creatures in the world are smaller than a chicken’s egg, yet often quite perceptive—sentient in the sense of variously responding to their environment (which plants also do). Typically, we do not know whether they are subjects of a life—sentient in the sense of psychic experience and feeling pain. Singer cuts things off somewhere between a shrimp and oysters . . . . Insects . . . are arthropods as well as shrimp, and highly perceptive, but are they subjects of a life? Oysters . . . are in a class . . . among the mollusks. . . . The scallop . . . in that class and otherwise rather similar has eyes with cornea, lens, and retina, with which it takes some interest in, or at least processes some information about, the world around it. (Rolston, “Respect” 257)

Singer’s line seems arbitrary. Can an oyster suffer? Even if we could know what other creatures experience, has Singer established that sentience—the interest in not suffering—is more important than other interests, such as the interest in facing toward the sunlight? Singer writes, “Utilitarianism does not so much exclude the non-sentient from equal consideration of interests, as find that they have no interests to consider” (Singer, “A Response” 297). Do oysters and maple trees have no interests to consider? Plants “repair injuries and move water, nutrients, and photosynthate from cell to cell; they store sugars; they make tannin and other toxins and regulate their levels in defense against grazers; they make nectars and emit pheromones to influence the behavior of pollinating insects and the responses of other plants; they emit allelopathic agents to suppress invaders; they make thorns, trap insects, and so on. They can reject genetically incompatible grafts . . . .

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A plant, like any other organism, sentient or not, is a spontaneous, self-maintaining system, sustaining and reproducing itself, executing its program, making a way through the world, checking against performance by means of responsive capacities with which to measure success. (Rolston, “Respect” 250)

By focusing on sentience, Singer indicates that all nonsentient life forms have only instrumental value. Only sentient beings have moral standing; everything else is merely a “resource for a privileged few conscious valuers” (Rolston, “Respect” 267). Is a raspberry bush merely of instrumental value to those of us that like to eat raspberries, having no moral standing of its own? If all other life-forms are merely of instrumental value for those of us who are sentient (and have a measure of mental functioning), is it possible that sentience is a speciesist qualification for consideration of interests? If it would seem arbitrary . . . to find one species claiming a monopoly of intrinsic value by virtue of its allegedly exclusive possession of reason, free will, soul, or some other occult quality, would it not seem almost as arbitrary to find that same species claiming a monopoly of intrinsic value for itself and those species most resembling it (e.g. in type of nervous system and behavior) by virtue of their common and allegedly exclusive possession of sentience? (L. Johnson 233)

While other life-forms are sentient, the vast majority are not. For the same reason that we ought to be wary of any characteristics that all human beings hold, we must be suspicious of sentience. Singer has proved blind to the still larger effort in environmental ethics to value life at all its ranges and levels, indeed to care for a biospheric Earth. It is almost as though what it takes Singer to win his victory about the animals—his insistence that they do suffer and that, by parity of reasoning, we humans concerned about suffering in ourselves cannot logically and ought not morally to fail to count their suffering— leaves him at a loss about insentient life, all the plants, but also most of the animals, if we remember the mollusks, crustaceans, nematodes, beetles, and the like. His victory is mostly for vertebrates, who form only 4 percent of living things by species and only a tiny fraction of a percent by numbers of individuals. Really, it is mostly for the mammals, and declines with decreasing complexity in the central nervous system. (Rolston, “Respect” 246)

In Singer’s utilitarian theory, those who cannot be harmed through suffering have no interests to be considered. But Singer’s ethic, while offering no moral standing to trees or plankton, might still protect

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these myriad entities and the world around them as habitat, places of recreation, and as aesthetic pleasures for Homo sapiens and other sentient creatures to use and enjoy. Furthermore, it is important to maintain the natural environment and all that dwell therein because sentient creatures depend on this planet—and its diversity—for their survival (Singer, “A Response” 332). With regard to sentience, Singer has again employed a measure of expedience; he has chosen a line that can be defended. While a moral philosopher such as Singer might wish to defend the wilderness directly, Singer acknowledges that an “ethic based on the interests of sentient creatures is on recognizable ground. Sentient creatures have wants and desires. They prefer some states to others” (Singer, Writings 98). In contrast, any argument for the intrinsic value of the plants, species, or ecosystems— is, at best, problematic. We are on surer ground if we confine ourselves to arguments based on the interests of sentient creatures, present and future, human and nonhuman. In my view the arguments grounded on the interests of present and future human beings, and on the interests of the sentient nonhumans who inhabit the wilderness, are quite sufficient to show that, at least in a society where no one needs to destroy wilderness in order to survive, the value of preserving the remaining significant areas of wilderness greatly exceeds the values gained by their destruction. (Singer, Writings 102)

Singer’s ethic has a narrow focus on those that are sentient, but ultimately offers much broader protection, as he demonstrates in his article, “Environmental Values,” printed in The Environmental Challenge in 1991. 4. Mental Capacity Singer asserts that “features of certain beings . . . make their lives more valuable than those of other beings”: A self-aware being, capable of abstract thought, of planning for the future, of complex acts of communication, and so on, is more valuable than the life of a being without these capacities (Animal 19–20). He writes, “[T]o take the life of a being who has been hoping, planning, and working for some future goal is to deprive that being of the fulfillment of all those efforts; to take the life of a being with a mental capacity below the level needed to grasp that one is a being with a future—much less make plans for the future—cannot involve this particular kind of loss” (Animal 21). Singer asserts that the death of a person who has been “hoping, planning, and working for some future goal” is a

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greater loss than the death of an individual, such as a fish, who seems unaware of having a future (Animal 21). Because people plan for the future, a premature death can, as it were, make nonsense of much of what has gone before. Earlier actions, preparations, planning, whose entire purpose and rationale lay in their being directed towards some future goal, become, in the face of an untimely death, retrospectively pointless— bridges, so to speak, that terminate in mid-air, roads that lead nowhere. The lives of other animals tend, in contrast, to be mere meanderings anyway. (Lockwood, “Singer” 167)

Singer’s theory determines which sentient creatures ought to live, and which ought to die, in part based on aspects of mental ability, but preference and the ability to plan are not the sole determinants of whether or not one ought to live. Consistent with his utilitarian philosophy, Singer writes that it is always better to let a creature capable of enjoyment live out her or his life undisturbed (Singer, In Defense 9). “If fish are capable of enjoying their lives, as I believe they are, we do better when we let them continue to live than when we needlessly end their lives” (In Defense 9). Singer’s assumptions regarding mental capacity, and the elevated importance of mental capacity, are as common in moral theories as they are epistemologically suspect. For at least two and a half millennia human beings have believed that there is something more tragic in a human death than in the death of any other animal. People tend to assume that “unity and continuity hardly have application to the lives of lower animals at all, which means . . . that there is here an entire spectrum of worth, on which their lives do not even figure” (Lockwood, “Singer” 167). There are five reasons to reconsider the importance of mental functioning in Singer’s theory. a. Utilitarian Calculations On the basis of his assumptions regarding the mental functioning of various species, Singer accepts administering painless death: “If we painlessly end [a cat’s] life while it is actually sleeping, thus ensuring that not even a short-term desire, for food say, is in consequence, denied satisfaction, it is difficult to see that we are thereby acting contrary to any preference, on the creature’s part” (Lockwood, “Singer” 159). Is Singer right about napping cats? First, as mentioned previously, Singer’s utilitarian calculation does not take into consideration a thwarted interest in survival. Living entities do have an interest in—a preference for—survival (A. Taylor,

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“Animal” 252). Singer’s theory is grounded on maximizing the satisfaction of interests, yet he is willing to thwart the basic interest in persistence of a sleeping cat. Mental awareness is not necessary in order to have an interest in persistence; such an interest is thwarted by an untimely death. In a variety of cases mental awareness is irrelevant to the satisfaction of interests. For instance, if Peabody loses her wallet on the way to church, her money is lost whether or not she is aware of her loss, and her pleasures are diminished whether or not she is consciously aware that they are diminished. Whether or not she knows what she has lost, she now has reduced resources with which to achieve her ends. Similarly, most stray cats probably know nothing beyond hunger and homelessness; they probably do not dream of soft chairs or dishes perpetually filled with delectable nibblets. Yet much is lacking in the lives of stray felines, and their happiness is decreased by deprivation. No sentient being is able to prefer a situation that is completely alien, completely outside her or his experience. Even so, few would deign to argue that the interests of starving or homeless people who know of no other life are not harmed by an absence of food and shelter simply because they have never known comfort and ease. The same holds true for anymals. Singer’s utilitarian theory is based on choosing those actions that will bring about the best consequences for all those affected by a given decision. This basic theory does not require those affected to be aware of the pleasures they gain or lose. His utilitarian equation operates for enhanced interests whether or not affected individuals are aware of outcomes or consequences. Therefore Singer ought to reject painless death and let sleeping cats lie. b. Epistemological Problems Singer’s utilitarian calculation, which is based on how other entities think and feel, carries daunting epistemological problems. By including mental factors in his utilitarian equation, Singer runs into the same epistemological conundrums faced by Regan and Mill. For Singer, it seems that the more highly developed the conscious life of a being, the greater the degree of self-awareness and rationality, the more one would prefer that kind of life (Singer, Practical 90). Perhaps it “seems” that such a life would be more valuable, but feelings count for nothing because Singer denies the moral validity

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of intuition (“Utilitarianism” 9, 327). Singer will need something more concrete by which to determine relative moral worth. Singer’s epistemological problems run yet deeper. “A reflexive being has a kind of interest in life that an unreflective being lacks, but it is not clear exactly why this should give the reflexive being any greater claim on life, or make [that being’s] life more valuable or important. Why should mental complexity count for anything?” (E. Johnson, “Life” 130). As it turns out, children are beloved, at least in part, because of their mental simplicity. What moral weight does such [mental] complexity carry? I incline to the view that each mind can be valuable to itself. There need be nothing intrinsically wrong with the mentalities of those who are “mad,” “retarded,” or “childish.” That they are not what I want for myself does nothing to show that they are not valuable to those beings. (E. Johnson, “Life” 131)

Inasmuch as we appreciate mental simplicity in children, we ought to reassess our denigration of anymals based on their mental capacity. Perhaps consciousness itself is of value, rather than any particular kind of consciousness ( Jamieson, “Killing” 145). But even with this more modest assumption, epistemological problems remain: How are we to determine which animals have, and do not have, consciousness? How can we know what a fruit bat thinks or feels? How can we judge that preserving the life of a fruit bat brings more or less desirable consequences for all those affected than preserving the life of a busy human mind full of “rational,” critical, analytical thoughts and schemes? We cannot know the consciousness of others. We have no way to measure and compare different levels of consciousness. In that we cannot be sure of the mental states of other entities, there is no legitimate reason to despise the consciousness of anymals “as in itself of less value to them than our own is to us” (“Life” 132). Furthermore, if mental capacity “counts” for something, we must assess various levels of human consciousness and mental functioning. What will we use as units of measure? And how can we decide if a childish mind should count for more than a mature mind? Singer assumes that taking the life of a person will normally be worse than taking the life of some other being, since a being which cannot see itself as an entity with a future cannot have a preference about its own future existence. This is not to deny that such a being might struggle against a situation

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chapter three in which its life is in danger, as a fish struggles to get free of a barbed hook in its mouth; but this indicates no more than a preference for the cessation of a state of affairs that is perceived as painful or threatening. Struggle against danger and pain does not suggest that the fish is capable of preferring its own future existence to non-existence. (Practical 81)

How can Singer know why a fish does what she does? Ascertaining consciousness is like “attempting to pin down shadows” (Ryder, “Painism” 200). If we assume the absence of certain mental states in some beings, such as the preference for a future existence in a struggling fish, consistency requires that we include human babies in this category. We have no grounds on which to assume that human babies have these “higher” mental characteristics (Lockwood, “Singer” 157). (See Beyond Prejudice: The Moral Significance of Human and Nonhuman Animals, Evelyn Pluhar, for an excellent explanation of why possible or expected future attributes cannot be used as philosophical arguments for the protection of human infants.) In fact, fish have a complex nervous system. Fish suffer, as indicated by “evolutionary evidence, neurophysiological analogies, and behavioral evidence” (Rollin 31). Evidence indicates that fish also “have memory and are capable of learning, and are conscious, or aware of, their existence” (Dionys de Leeuw 378). Fish have been conditioned to swim in a particular direction (through morally repugnant methods of electroshock) (Rollin 31). In short, “fish have all the relevant characteristics attributable to those animals requiring humane treatment from society generally” (Dionys De Leeuw 373f, 389). Singer indicates that, because of their mental capacities, fish are of lesser moral concern than at least some human beings. If we accept mental capacity as critical to moral standing, we must conclusively determine whether or not a fish has hopes and plans for the future. The only characteristics that fish lack, ones that too often seem necessary for some measure of moral consideration, are cuddly cute looks and/or similarity to human beings—we cannot relate to fish. The life and death moral decisions Singer makes with regard to fish do not seem grounded in adequate understanding of trout or Atlantic sailfish. As the case of fish seems to reveal, mental abilities are notoriously difficult to assess. Singer’s assessment seems subjective. We cannot know a baby’s consciousness any more than we can know that of a flounder or a kudu. How can we know enough about the consciousness of other animals to form a moral judgment on such matters?

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To his credit, Singer admits that it is mere “imaginative reconstruction” to assess what the life of another being might be like (Practical 90). “If imaginative identification is to play the role it is supposed to play, then we must be similar enough to those to whom we should show moral consideration. But are we similar enough?” (Holton 222). Nagel famously noted that the sonar of bats is so alien to our experience as to make it unlikely that we can imagine what it is like to be a bat. A platypus can detect, with her bill, “electrical discharges from the muscles of other creatures” nearby (Holton 224). What might this feel like? “We don’t know, and imagining ourselves in their place won’t help. Imagination ‘yields a perfect blank’ ” (Holton 225). The sensation that a bat feels when using sonar, or a platypus when detecting electrical currents, may be as different from any of our sensations “as a burn is different from a headache” (Holton 227). In Practical Ethics, Singer notes that we are unable to imagine what it is like to be a psychopathic person, while in The Expanding Circle Singer writes that such a mental blank in our understanding of what it is like to be a tree or a mountain indicates to us that there is nothing to be taken into account morally with regard to trees or mountains. If we therefore conclude that the psychopathic person, like a tree, is of no moral regard simply because we cannot imagine what it is like to be a psychopath, we surely make a grievous moral error. Does Singer intend that human beings “for whom the attempt at imaginative identification ‘yields a perfect blank’ . . . be outside the domain of moral salience” (Holton 223)? To exclude a bat, a platypus, or a psychopath would be “to commit precisely the kind of parochial mistake that Singer has campaigned so strenuously to avoid” (Holton 227). Perhaps “imaginative identification is a bad method of discovering which animals have preferences, and hence of determining the domain of moral salience. Try it with a slug or a sea anemone. Try it with a locust that goes on eating while itself being eaten by a mantis. Here again, imagination ‘yields a perfect blank’. The differences are too great for our imagination to get any useful purchase” (Holton 225). Any theory rooted in the mental aspects of other beings—whether their experience of pain or mental capacity— will inevitably become embroiled in a discussion about which we are unlikely to have sufficient information. Even if we could identify with these other creatures, even if we could imagine what it might be like to be a platypus, is such imaginative

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identification a reliable basis for determining moral standing? Won’t such a method “skew our concern to those for whom we find imaginative identification easy” (Holton 226)? Won’t such a method “invite precisely the kind of parochialism that an impartialist moral theory rejects?” (Holton 226). The intent of Singer’s theory, it seems, is to transcend just such small-minded human prejudice so that the boundaries of our moral concern transcend our ability to empathize, even our ability to understand the minds and lives of other beings. In Singer’s defense, he writes that he is “eclectic in his philosophical methodologies, drawing on facts about animal’s neurology as well as on imaginative identification . . . . Over the years I have, if anything, moved further away from imaginative identification as a basis for the belief that animals can suffer” (Singer, “A Response” 318, 319). Singer makes it clear that such imaginings are merely a “useful device,” and should not be given undue weight. [I]f we were, for some reason, utterly unable to identify imaginatively with another being but nevertheless had good evidence that that being had preferences of a certain kind, we could not ignore those preferences in making a universalizable judgment. Thus, if . . . we cannot imagine ourselves in the position of bats, slugs, or locusts, the consequence would not be that I no longer apply the principle of universalizability to these animals, but that in doing so, I avoid attempting to make use of imaginative identification. (Singer, “A Response” 320)

c. Faulty Conclusion The analogy that Singer used to emphasize the importance of mental ability forces readers to choose between saving a normal human being or an intellectually disabled human being. Singer concludes that we will probably choose to save the life of a normal human being, and he offers this as evidence to indicate that the way we value individual lives is influenced by mental attributes of the individuals involved (Animal 20–21). Singer thereby concludes that the loss of certain lives (those with more complex brains) is a greater utilitarian loss (greater reduction of pleasure and increase in misery) for all those affected, than the loss of other lives (those with lesser mental complexity). First, it appears Singer has incorrectly identified the reason for our probable choice. If we consider a situation where we must choose between two perfectly normal people, one with a mental capacity at

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the same level as Singer’s “intellectually disabled” individual and one of above average intelligence, the choice is no longer clear. Therefore, Singer’s example fails to demonstrate a human preference for selfaware beings, capable of abstract thought, that can plan for the future and engage in complex acts of communication. Rather, his example highlights our preference for saving the lives of those who are not disabled, a preference for nondamaged beings, rather than a preference for higher mental ability. Second, Singer fails to make a logical connection between the common human value placed on those who are not disabled and his assertion of maximizing pleasure for all concerned. Does higher intelligence (or “greater potential”) maximize aggregate happiness? We return to this topic shortly. Third, Singer asserts that the majority of people ascribe a lesser value to individuals who have lower intelligence. A young gorilla named Lana scored 85 on a standard IQ test, higher than some humans (Rollin 23). Does Singer believe that most people would choose to save the life of Lana before the life of an adult human who scored below 85? If this is his assumption, he seems to be wrong; if not, he contradicts himself. Finally, nowhere does Singer assert that preferring to save the lives of more intelligent beings over those of less intelligent beings is what we ought to do. Singer implies that such a choice is indicative of what is proper and acceptable, yet he offers no evidence that such a choice is ethically preferable. What suits the inclinations of the majority is not relevant to what we ought to do. If it were, Singer would not propose a protectionist theory. His example might reveal a common preference, but not a morally legitimate preference. d. Cultural Perspective Singer asserts that, all things being equal, the lives of those likely to have hopes and plans for the future ought to be given preference over those who do not have hopes and plans for the future. He indicates that higher mental faculties increase the happiness of individuals, and therefore the lives of such individuals ought to be given moral preference. But it is an open question whether or not greater mental abilities correlate with increased happiness or greater possibilities for the satisfaction of preferences. Such a correlation has not been demonstrated by Singer and is by no means obvious. Perhaps it would be

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more reasonable for Singer’s scales of utility to register a greater loss to the death of one who has no self-awareness and no future plans. This possibility needs to be entertained if we are to be impartial in our explorations. People tend to assume that “much of what is bad about dying is anticipation of greater suffering and fear of what may lie beyond the grave (of which personal extinction may be the most terrifying), and regrets about unrealized goals. . . . Consequently, death for animals is, on the whole, less of an evil than for humans” (Forrester 124–25). Is this really the case? An entity with no plans lives in the moment. One who plans for the future is apt to experience less joy in each moment, and is more apt to experience anxiety—not only about death, but about life. One who lives in the moment does not experience the stress and tension inherent in those who worry about the future. Such an individual is also less apt to suffer disappointment and failure. “It seems that a life in which struggle is rewarded by frequent pay-offs, rather than one that is primarily devoted to hardship in the service of a distant goal, would contain more utility” (Pluhar 211). Consequently, one could well conclude that the life of an individual who is less selfconscious might well hold less emotional and mental pain and misery. This alternative assessment of the value of mental states is wellsupported in Eastern philosophy. Eastern thought favors simplicity— giving up all endeavors—as the shortest route to peace and happiness. Singer favors an individual with self-awareness who plans for the future, but such is not the case in the Taoist world. Tao “denotes simplicity, spontaneity, tranquillity, weakness, and most important of all, non-action (wu-wei ).” Nonaction requires people to allow nature to take its course (Chan 136). The Tao-Te Ching instructs people to “attain complete vacuity, / Maintain steadfast quietude” (147). Taoists “Manifest plainness, / Embrace simplicity” (149). Lao Tzu is attributed with saying, “I alone am inert, showing no sign (of desires), / Like an infant that has not yet smiled” (150). He is credited with having written, “I know the advantage of taking no action” (161). Chuang Tzu, second in importance only to Lao Tzu in the Taoist world, taught that “the ultimate man has no self, the spiritual person has no accomplishment, and the sage has no name” (Mair, Wandering 5–6). In the Taoist tradition Singer’s prized attributes—self-awareness, planning, and aspiring to action—are not assumed to lead to

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happiness and are actively discouraged. Simplicity of thought and action—not intelligence—are the ultimate way of being, and the way of a worthy sage. The Taoist, ideal mind does not look to the future, but lives in the moment. Those of lesser mind clutter their thoughts with plans for the future. Some schools of Buddhism agree with the Taoists. The Ch’an (Zen) Buddhist master I-Hsuan (also from China) instructed his followers: “In Buddhism no effort is necessary. All one has to do is to do nothing, except to move his bowels, urinate, put on his clothing, eat his meals, and lie down if he is tired. The stupid will laugh at him, but the wise one will understand. An ancient person said, ‘One who makes effort externally is surely a fool’ ” (Chan 446). Singer asserts that having a plan for the future makes a particular life more “valuable,” but he does not indicate whether or not any and every plan will suffice. Are some plans more valuable than others? Is the Taoist plan to have no plan as worthy as the dentist’s plan to fill a cavity? Is the Taoists, non-plan as worthy as a worm’s nonplan? If a cat sits outside the door, then dashes for the food dish when the door is opened, would we deny that the cat was planning to come in and eat? Is this plan of less value or importance in Singer’s utilitarian equation than a Toaist’s non-plan, Popeye’s plan to go out to dinner, or the dentist’s plan to fill a cavity? Will the plan to become an artist yield more or less utilitarian benefit than the plan to become a military general? Will either one of these offer as much utility value as a “plan” to do absolutely nothing? What if one’s plans are destined to be unfulfilled? How might we weigh and assess likelihood of success in fulfilling dreams? How can we compare plans for the future and their likelihood of satisfying interests; how will Singer know which plans are the most worthy? Singer’s assumption that the human mind grants enhanced experiences and special moral status is broadly accepted in the West, but not in the East. Eastern wisdom has it that an individual with plans and hopes might well offer the least utility—the least happiness—for all concerned. For many Easterners, if people wish to maximize happiness they must abandon busy lives of planning and striving. Singer’s assessment lies within the framework of a narrow, contemporary, Western, Protestant ethic. A broader vision of what people value in other cultures calls into question some of Singer’s key assumptions.

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e. Speciesist Criterion Singer writes, “[I]t would not necessarily be speciesist to rank the value of different lives in some hierarchical ordering” (Practical 90). He states that his theory is not speciesist because it does not discriminate on the basis of species, but rather on the basis of characteristics that can arguably be said to be morally relevant. Its nonspeciesist nature is apparent from the fact that in accordance with this position the life of a member of another species could certainly be more valuable than the life of a grossly retarded member of our own species. (“Fable” 121)

True, making such assessments is not necessarily speciesist, but if one happens to value the particular attributes of one’s own species (such as mental capacity) above the most noticeable aspects of all other species, the criteria are partial. One could develop either a utilitarian or a nonutilitarian ethic that was not anthropocentric, but the fact remains that utilitarianism, in its usual forms, and nonutilitarian ethics, in their usual Kantian forms, are all biased in favor of beings with humanlike qualities. Kant focuses explicitly on rational beings. Preference utilitarianism also, though more subtly, favors rational beings. By defining the good in terms of preferences or prudent desires, it puts a premium on the wellbeing of those who can conceptualize their wellbeing needs (or who can, at least, form preferences). Even so, it is biased toward beings that can form preferences about their wellbeing needs. Their wellbeing needs are counted morally only to the extent that the being can form preferences about them, and this unjustifiably favors beings who are like normal humans. (L. Johnson 197)

With regard to Singer’s theory, the moral “value” of each species hinges on treasured human qualities such as self-awareness. Only nonnormal human beings fall outside Singer’s protected category because Singer’s theory favors human attributes. He argues that these attributes enhance the aggregate happiness, but he fails to consider other characteristics that might also enhance the aggregate happiness—characteristics that human beings do not have. The danger of Singer’s approach is easy to expose. What if Singer argued that having an opposing thumb made one physically more adept, and therefore more valuable? He could assert that this is not a speciesist criterion because not all humans have opposing thumbs. (Some thumbs are missing either at birth or through accidents.) Yes, thumbs have tremendous value, but so do prehensile tails, wings, and the acute ability to hear and smell shared by many anymals. What

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if Singer argued that testosterone makes one physically superior and therefore enhances one’s pleasure in life, which increases one’s relative value in the utilitarian equation? He could assert that his view is not sexist because some women have levels of testosterone that are higher than those of some males. Nonetheless, such an assertion is clearly sexist. In either case, such arguments beg the question—opposing thumbs are a peculiarly human trait (though not held by all humans and though shared with other primates); high levels of testosterone are a peculiarly male characteristic (though testosterone is found in women as well). Opposing thumbs and testosterone levels offer certain advantages (especially if you wish to engage in war), but so do the myriad attributes that benefit anymals and women (especially if you prefer a more peaceful world). Singer has chosen a peculiarly human capacity to include in his assessment of the value of life. His choice is no more or less arbitrary than would be “testosterone.” The only real difference seems to be that one is sexist and the other is speciesist, that one is still commonly assumed by millions of human beings, while the other is not. Singer fails to focus on attributes that humans perhaps have less of than anymals. The mental propensities of human beings targeted by Singer offer advantages—and disadvantages—as do the various defining attributes of other species; a long, strong tail or trunk offers advantages and pleasures for monkeys and elephants. If we could communicate with either species, they would no doubt question how we live any kind of a worthwhile life without such handy appendages. Singer does not consider the utility of characteristics such as most nurturing, most physically adept, or gentlest. None of these attributes are the special and exclusive realm of human beings in relation to other species, but each seems at least as likely to maximize pleasure on this small planet as the human mind. And what of our detriments? What of our weak physique and feeble senses in relation to other species? If a dog is killed, its rich future of smells and chases is cut short, and these interests may be more complex and rich than comparable smell and chase interests of humans. Moreover, how does one compare the complexity of very different interests—a dog’s complex interest in sniffing versus a child’s complex interest in solving jigsaw puzzles? Notice that this gambit by Singer might be regarded as reintroducing the elitism that he had seemed to want to disavow. For after

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all it is just as true that a creative genius has richer and more complex interests than those of an ordinary average Joe as it is true that a human has richer and more complex interests than a baboon. If the principle of equality is interpreted as equal treatment for equal interests, then the beings with fancier interests should get fancier treatment. (Arneson 105–06)

Singer favors mental abilities in which humans specialize—he hinges increased life value on these attributes. Yet the human brain is part and parcel of many questionable human tendencies: unceasing material acquisition and gruesome premeditated violence. Singer may not have considered both sides of the human mind: “[H]aving started with man as the uniquely rational animal, we come finally face to face with man as the only animal who systematically slaughters his own kind. . . . [H]umans are especially dangerous” (Rodman 17). If one looks more closely at the human animal, at the behaviors in which we engage with our much-touted brains, one may find reason not to favor mental capacities in a utilitarian equation. 5. Reason without Virtues Singer emphasizes reason in his theory, perhaps to the exclusion of common sense and virtues such as empathy. Richard Solomon notes that it is not reason “in the technical sense of calculation on the basis of abstract principles” that allows the circle of ethics to expand to include diverse peoples, or other species, but rather knowledge and understanding in the sense of coming to appreciate the situations and the circumstances in which other people and creatures find themselves. This requires what many theorists now call “empathy” or “feeling with” . . . and it requires care and concern, the emotional sense that what happens to others matters. According to this “moral sentiment” view, there is no “line” to be drawn between ethics and benevolence, no place in our experience where affect and affection leave off and some new faculty called “reason” kicks in and takes over. Rather, our emotions get more and more expansive and better educated and new perspectives join with the old to enlarge our world and embrace new populations in it. This . . . should be recognized as the vital force in ethics. (75)

“Ethics requires intelligence as well as sensitivity,” and an overly intellectual approach to ethics “may impose blinders” along with the insights and arguments that such theories offer (Solomon 78). Singer leaves little room for feelings such as empathy or compassion, but

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many would argue that compassion “is the motivational seed from which all ethical action emerges” (Solomon 81). Some moral philosophers argue that utilitarian theories such as Singer’s use “overly abstract calculations of ‘the greatest good for the greatest number’ ” that can “too easily dull one’s sensibilities” (Solomon 78). Solomon’s friend and colleague Paul Woodruff served in Cambodia in the sixties. He noticed that soldiers who were not college educated, who were not versed in the wiles and ways of ‘reason,’ typically remained sensitive to and repulsed by the war crimes that had by then become a daily feature, if not an inevitability, of the war. The college educated recruits and officers, on the other hand, were able to rationalize these handily, using familiar utilitarian arguments, thus cutting themselves off quite effectively not only from guilt and shame but from the human tragedies they caused and witnessed. Reason as rationalization can sometimes be inversely proportional to justice. (Solomon 78–79)

While Singer’s moral theory is rooted in reason, others argue that ethics is primarily emotional. “Ethics begins with caring, about ourselves and our place in the world, about those whom we love or feel akin to, about the way of the world and the fate of the sentient creatures in it. Without that, there can be no ethics. Why else would ethics matter to us?” (Solomon 83). While Singer bases his morality in reason, he does not deny the importance of emotion, or the value of virtues in moral theory and practice. “Singer, despite as well as because of his arguments, is an exemplar of ethics for our time” (Solomon 83). His moral theory does not prevent Singer from moving beyond reason. While Singer’s theory may seem straight-jacketed by reason, Singer admits that “emotions are important, and it is true in the animal movement as elsewhere that nothing great would have been achieved without passion” (Singer, “A Response” 283). 6. Speciesism Like Regan, Singer argues against speciesism. Whatever one may say about his utilitarian protectionist philosophy, his arguments against speciesism are strong. He effectively argues that “there is no consistent way to draw nonarbitrary moral lines based solely on species differences” between humans and anymals (Orlans 24). Singer proposes a very simple approach: If you wouldn’t do it to a human of similar sentience

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and mental capacity, don’t do it to such an anymal. For example, with regard to scientific experimentation, Singer writes, “If the experimenters would not be prepared to use a human infant then their readiness to use nonhuman animals reveals an unjustifiable form of discrimination on the basis of species” (Animal 81). Singer argues that this reveals speciesism because many anymals are more self-aware, more self-directing, and “at least as sensitive to pain as a human infant” (Animal 82). He argues that not only orphaned infants, but severely brain-damaged humans might be fair game in any experiment for which mammals at a comparable mental level might be used. For Singer, whatever we might object to in such use of humans is no less objectionable in the case of anymals who would suffer no less than human subjects. If such experimentation is wrong for people, it is wrong for at least these other anymals. “To deny this is to embrace speciesism,” to show an “unabashed, unjustified preference for humans merely because they are members of your own species” (Finsen 186). With or without utilitarian theory, Singer’s point regarding speciesism remains: In the absence of morally relevant criteria, speciesism is no more acceptable than racism or sexism. Singer’s insistence on consistency across species (his attack on speciesism) does not indicate what we ought to do, but makes clear a few contemporary practices that cannot be morally justified. Conclusion Peter Singer’s utilitarian theory entails serious epistemological difficulties, and fails to protect individuals as such. Nonetheless, Singer’s sentiencebased theory is popular because it is viewed as extremely simple, overall, and because most people recognize that “animal pain and suffering . . . are factors of which account is to be taken in our moral deliberations” (McCloskey, “Moral” 24). Singer’s work highlights the blindness of current moral standards that ignore morally relevant criteria that reach across species, namely sentience. Peter Singer’s protectionist theory has had a tremendous impact on contemporary philosophical debates in the realms of ethics and anymals, carrying protectionism outside the ivory tower to be debated on street corners and homes on several continents.

CHAPTER FOUR

PAUL TAYLOR: BIO-PROTECTIONISM

Paul Taylor is an environmental ethicist. Like Singer, he is not particularly concerned about Fluffy and Spot or with lab rats and factory farmed hogs. In Respect for Nature Taylor outlines a moral theory intended to protect the interests of wildness, including plants and anymals that dwell therein. Taylor’s work offers new direction for protectionist philosophy, including possible alliances with an important and growing field of moral philosophy—environmental ethics. A. Protectionism and Environmental Ethics: An Uneasy Alliance There is no contemporary moral issue that is more important than how we interact with the world around us, since the survival of all life depends on a stable and sustainable relationship with the planet on which we depend. The connection between protectionism and environmental ethics has too often been clouded by fundamental disagreements between those who would protect each individual animal and those who would protect the environment, ecosystems, and the biosphere. Taylor’s work, though in many ways problematic, helps to establish a crucial link between environmental and protectionist ethics. These differences, and the importance of Taylor’s work, are highlighted by contemporary moral dilemmas such as those of feral pigs in Hawaii and feral goats in California. Before the arrival of Europeans, the people who lived in Polynesia introduced forty or fifty species of plants and animals to the Hawaiian Islands, including “red junglefowl, dogs, pigs, rats, geckos, and skinks” (Sponsel 164). These new species caused about sixty native species (largely birds) to become extinct over the next fifteen hundred years, prior to European contact (Sponsel 164). When Europeans arrived they, too, introduced species.

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chapter four More than 13,000 species of plants have been introduced in Hawai‘i, over 900 have become established in the wild, and more than 100 of these are serious pests. . . . In recent times, about 25 species of new plants and animals are introduced every year, whereas it is estimated that, prior to human occupation, only about one new species became established every 100,000 years. The current rate of introductions is variously estimated at one to two million times that prior to humans, and 1,000 times that of the Polynesian period. Thus, it is no wonder that species introductions over the last century or so are causing such serious ecological disruptions. Simultaneously, there has been a quantum increase in the numbers of extinct, endangered, or threatened species. For example, of the 140 original native species of birds, 113 of which were endemic, half are now extinct and half of the remainder are endangered. Since contact, more than 200 endemic species of plants and animals have become extinct, an average of at least one species per year. Hundreds of other native species of animals and plants are listed as threatened or endangered, and the majority are endemic. The Hawai‘i Biological Survey characterizes Hawai‘i as the endangered species capital of the world, noting that there are more endangered species per square mile on the islands than in any other place on the earth. Biologist George W. Cox asserts that the complete replacement of the native terrestrial biota of the islands is now a possibility. (Sponsel 164)

Loss of native species due to introduced species “has been staggering” in Hawaii, and the native plants and anymals that remain are restricted to “a fraction of their historical range” (Loope). One immigrant in particular has taken a serious toll. Pigs were introduced to the Hawaiian Islands by human beings, for human ends, and have found the climate agreeable and food plentiful. But introduced species usually thrive only at the expense of the ecological zone they have entered, and this newly created line of Hawaiian pigs has proven to be no exception. Pigs spread deeper and deeper into Hawai‘i’s native forests, where they root up native species, open up ground where alien plant seeds can get started, and create muddy wallows where disease-carrying mosquitoes can breed. Among the mosquito-borne diseases is avian malaria, an ailment suspected for being a major cause of the decline in Hawai‘i’s native forest birds. (TenBruggencate)

Pigs have become a serious concern for those interested in preserving Hawaii’s current array of flora and fauna. Consequently, pigs who came to live in the Hawaiian Islands—through no fault of their

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own and against what they would likely have chosen—have been targeted by environmentalists for extermination. For many environmentalists, eliminating Hawaiian pigs poses no problem: Kill the pigs and be done with them. Many environmental groups accept, and even encourage, hunting. Aldo Leopold, whom many view as the father of the contemporary environmental movement, viewed hunting as a primary reason to preserve wilderness. In fact, this cornerstone figure of the contemporary environmental movement shows a lack of respect for those who do not hunt: “The deer hunter habitually watches the next bend; the duck hunter watches the skyline; the bird hunter watches the dog; the non-hunter does not watch” (Leopold 224). For Leopold, an intimate connection with and appreciation for nature was rooted in the intensity and intimacy of the hunt. It should not surprise us, then, that contemporary environmental organizations “such as the National Wildlife Federation, the National Audubon Society, the Sierra Club, the Izaak Walton League, the Wilderness Society, the World Wildlife Fund, and many others are pro-sport-hunting” (“Why”). Such groups do not ask whether or not contemporary hunting is necessary for sustenance—usually it is not, and they surely know this. Instead, many early environmental groups merely asked what people who venture into the wilderness do; historically, many hunted. Groups like the World Wildlife Fund and the Sierra Club have aligned with hunters who donate funds while billing themselves as preservers of wilderness and wildlife. Hawaiian wildlife “managers” linked with the environmental group The Nature Conservancy (TNC) in the hope of solving environmental problems posed by feral pigs in Hawaii. It is not surprising that this environmental organization is willing to use deadly methods such as hunting and snaring in order to eliminate pigs from Hawaii. Also not surprising, these tactics have put TNC “at odds with protectionists,” who oppose efforts by TNC “to snare and kill Hawaii’s feral pigs” (Motavalli). Snares are especially controversial because of suffering caused. Snares used for this purpose have one-way steel cable mechanisms that allow the snares to tighten once an animal is caught. They are designed to capture animals by the neck and affect an immediate kill, but death does not always come quickly. If animals are not positioned correctly in the snare, they can die a slower, more painful death. (“Snares”)

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Those in charge of the snares only check them every few weeks, because the snares are set in remote areas (“Snares”). Protectionists have noted that anymals caught in snares take “days to die of infection, starvation, or dehydration, their flesh rotting while they are still alive” (TenBruggencate). For these reasons the protectionist group People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) objected to the snaring of pigs on the Hawaiian Islands and advocated for eliminating pigs through live trapping and birth control. Sue Daniels, a former federal wildlife official, commented, “I agree with many of PETA’s positions. However, when extinctions and severe endangerment result from introduced species, I believe the nonnative animals must be removed as humanely as possible. This is precisely what TNC is doing in Hawai’i” (Motavalli). PETA and TNC were both trying to protect anymals, though different anymals for different reasons, in different ways. Hakalau refuge manager Richard Wass revealed the resultant tension when he commented that he would prefer not to use snares because it is possible to eliminate pigs without snares, though it would cost more and take longer. But, he added, it would be worth it “if I don’t have people throwing stones in my windows” (“Snares”). On another island far across the Pacific, off the coast of California, there has been a similar conflict between environmentalists and protectionists. In the nineteenth century, Spanish sailors introduced goats to San Clemente Island as “fresh flesh.” Goats thrived long after visiting Spaniards abandoned the island. In the decades that followed, the goats are suspected of eradicating “several never-known species. . . . [A]fter the passage of the US endangered Species Act, the Fish and Wildlife Service and the US Navy, which controls the island, sought to kill thousands of these goats to save three endangered plant species” (Rolston, “Respect” 260). “Goats are among the most nimble and sure-footed creatures on Earth,” making them difficult to eradicate (Rolston, “Respect” 260). The goats frequented canyons that were not easy to access, so the navy shot them from helicopters. A protectionist group, the Fund for Animals, filed suit to prevent the killing of goats on San Clemente Island. A court ruling stopped the killing after six hundred goats had been shot, and ordered that the goats be removed from the island. The Fund for Animals live trapped and relocated about 15,000 goats from San Clemente Island. But the goats did not prosper in their new

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home, and most of them died within six months of relocation. Goats that the Fund for Animals was not able to trap were then shot, about fourteen thousand total (Rolston, “Respect” 260). The navy was willing to “kill several goats for each known surviving plant,” and well over half of the San Clemente goats died to protect a few endangered plants (Rolston, “Respect” 260). In the mind of the courts, protecting endangered species justified killing goats, which were viewed as both replaceable and exotic (nonnative). For most people, if the trade-off had been even—one goat versus one plant—we might judge that the welfare of goats overrides that of plants. “But the picture is more complex,” and for most environmentalists, the “well-being of plants at the species level outweighs the welfare of the goats at the individual level” (Rolston, “Respect” 260). For most environmentalists, individuals other than human beings are expendable for the sake of the larger whole. In contrast, most protectionists find killing individuals (pigs or goats) unacceptable, even for the sake of saving endangered species. Protectionists often disagree with environmentalists about the relative value of species and that of the individual. While most flesh eaters who are serious about the environmental movement would beg to have the earth free of cattle (if informed of the effects of cattle on the environment), most protectionists will have nothing of the mass slaughter of cattle—even for the sake of the earth. While environmentalists will “eradicate” any unwanted species for the sake of an ecosystem, protectionists do not consider individual anymals any more expendable than human individuals. This contrasting focus (individual versus species) often puts environmentalists and protectionists at odds with one another. Singer’s sentience-based theory, a theory bent on maximizing the satisfaction of preferences, does not seem likely to support shooting goats from helicopters for the sake of a few plants that have no preferences. Similarly, Regan’s Rights View seems likely to protect San Clemente goats at the expense of plants because goats have rights but plants do not. Likewise, neither would accept the snaring or shooting of pigs in the Hawaiian Islands. In spite of this discrepancy, environmentalists and protectionists have much in common. For example, to further their causes, most informed protectionists and environmentalists would prefer that flesh and leather industries close down permanently. Both would prefer that goats and pigs had not be introduced to San Clemente or

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Hawaii. Both would hope to rectify any resultant environmental problems when new species are introduced. The difference tends to be in solutions posed. Paul Taylor’s theory is both environmentalist and protectionist; Taylor is an environmentalist who values and protects individual anymals. His theory offers insights into how these two groups might work together, instead of at odds, to resolve issues that are critical both to the protection of the environment and to the protection of individual anymals. B. Taylor’s Foundation 1. Individual versus Species Unlike most environmental ethicists, Taylor emphasizes the moral importance of the individual rather than focusing on the moral importance of ecosystems. Taylor writes of wild anymals that “to harm several such beings is not merely to bring about a certain amount of intrinsic disvalue in the world. . . . It is to commit a number of violations of duty, corresponding to the number of creatures harmed” (Respect 284). For Taylor, individuals are what give a species—and the environment—its value: [U]nless individuals have a good of their own that deserves the moral consideration of agents, no account of the organic system of natureas-a-whole can explain why moral agents have a duty to preserve its good. Even if it is the case that the entire realm of life on Earth is itself a quasi-organism, why should the well-being of that entity count ethically? (Respect 119)

2. Natural and Nonnatural a. Natural Taylor’s ethical theory protects the “natural” world, including “the entire set of natural ecosystems on our planet, along with the populations of animals and plants that make up the biotic communities of those ecosystems” (Respect 3). A natural ecosystem is “any collection of ecologically interrelated living things that, without human intrusion or control, maintain their existence as species-populations over time, each population occupying its own environmental niche

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and each shaped by the evolutionary processes of genetic variation and natural selection” (P. Taylor, Respect 3). While focusing on the protection of “wild” or “natural” teleological entities, Taylor admits that no definitive line can be drawn between natural and unnatural entities or ecosystems. He extends moral protection to living things that we have tampered with, but which now exist without human intervention, such as endangered “wild” anymals that have been captive bred (Respect 4). b. Bioculture Taylor distinguishes between environmental ethics and the ethics of bioculture. Environmental ethics concentrate on “the moral relations that hold between humans and the natural world. The ethical principles governing those relations determine our duties, obligations, and responsibilities with regard to the Earth’s natural environment and all the animals and plants that inhabit it” (P. Taylor, Respect 3). By contrast, the ethics of bioculture involve moral guidelines for our treatment of plants and animals that are under human control and that are the result of human manipulation. Biocultural ethics target entities that have been created, regulated, and exploited for human ends such as domestic cattle and chickens. Taylor acknowledges that these entities have a good of their own, just like the plants and animals of natural ecosystems, but such beings lie outside the scope of Taylor’s theory of environmental ethics (Respect 53–55). 3. Moral Standing a. Inherent Worth Where Regan uses the term “inherent value” and “inherent worth” interchangeably, Taylor holds them to different uses. As the words suggest, “inherent value” “is a purely valuational (or axiological) concept, not a moral (or deontological) one. The first [inherent value] is a matter of people valuing things; the second [inherent worth] is a matter of people being under an obligation to have moral respect for something” (P. Taylor, Unpublished 1–2). For Taylor, having inherent worth is synonymous with “being morally respectworthy” (P. Taylor, Unpublished 2). Taylor clarifies the two concepts: For a sport killer (one who hunts without needing to eat flesh) “the hunted bird or mammal has inherent value, but the sport hunter clearly recognizes no

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moral duty to respect the hunted animal” (P. Taylor, Unpublished 2). (“Inherent worth” is also discussed in chapters 1 and 2.) Taylor ascribes inherent worth to each entity that has “a good of their own,” to all those myriad entities that “can be made better or worse off ” (Respect 56, 75). For Taylor, having a good of one’s own makes an entity worthy of moral consideration, and moral consideration carries duties for moral agents (Respect 75). If an entity has inherent worth, then that being is worthy of moral consideration from moral agents. For Taylor, inherent worth indicates that moral agents have a prima facie duty to promote or preserve that entity’s good as an end in itself—for the sake of that entity (Respect 75). b. Teleology Taylor’s theory ascribes inherent worth to wild teleological entities. “Everything that is alive at this moment is the result of ancestors who displayed brilliant artifices to reproduce against nearly impossible odds” (Sagoff 15). While Western humans have excellent odds of finding enough food and avoiding predators, this is not the case for all creatures. Biological beings have a variety of needs; survival depends on how well they cope with their environment (Broom 90). In its simplest definition, teleology guides organisms to fulfill biological needs so that they/we might succeed at the daunting task of survival (G. Williams 136). Ernest Nagel describes teleology as that which distinguishes “living from inanimate things,” and which specifically refers to “the apparently purposive character of living organisms” (276). He divides teleological statements into two types. First are goal ascriptions, which “state some outcome or goal toward which certain activities of an organism or of its parts are directed” (E. Nagel 277). For instance, the goal of pecking in woodpeckers is to find grubs. This form of teleology is “guided by a program” and “dependent on the existence of some endpoint or goal” (Mayr 48). Second are function ascriptions, which “make evident one role some item plays in a given system” (E. Nagel 315). This includes for example, “the heart that is built to pump the blood through the body, the kidneys that are built to eliminate the byproducts of protein metabolism, the intestinal tract that performs digestion and makes nutritional material available to the body,” and teeth that chew food and send the food down to the digestive tract (Mayr 49). Characteristic language of teleology includes function, purpose, goal, and behaviors intended to “bring about” a certain end (Mayr 39).

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Ernst Mayr discusses two other forms of teleology that apply to inanimate matter. First is a process “in which a definite end is reached strictly as a consequence of physical laws” (49). Gravity carries a baseball to the earth as dependably as it carries water to the seas. Laws of gravitation and thermodynamics frequently govern the unfolding of events on planet earth. “The entire process of cosmic evolution, from the first big bang to the present time” is a direct result of physical laws such as these (Mayr 49). Finally, Mayr discusses a cosmic teleology, a form of teleology that Aristotle attributed to the cosmos as a whole. He did not understand evolution, yet as he studied life and the world around him he concluded that chance was not a viable explanation for what he witnessed. The world, he thought, must be guided by purpose. Christians seized on this Aristotelian concept, attributing the ultimate purpose to God. Mayr notes that this cosmic teleology is rejected by modern science “without reservation. There is not and never was any program on the basis of which either cosmic or biological evolution has occurred” (50). Cosmic teleology is now understood to be the result of “selection forces generated by competition among individuals and species and by the colonization of new adaptive zones” (Mayr 50). Taylor’s teleology, consistent with thoughts of most other contemporary thinkers, does not include inanimate forces. Taylor’s moral theory protects “any wild creature just in virtue of its being a member of a biotic community of a natural ecosystem” (Respect 79). Such teleological beings are not to be treated as a means to an end, but as ends in themselves with a value independent of any utility ascribed by human beings (Respect 57). While “animals may not actually be valued by humans as highly as other humans [are valued] . . . this does not mean that animals do not have the same inherent [worth] as humans” (“Inherent” 17). In Taylor’s view the spotted sandpiper and the spotted hyena, the spider wasp and the spider crab all have inherent worth. For Taylor, teleology entails both internal functioning and external activities, both of which constantly work to maintain an organism’s existence (Respect 121). Teleological entities have “interests” because they have a good that can be thwarted: “We have each a good of our own, and each of us, human and non-human alike, can be helped or hindered in the realization of that good” (P. Taylor, “In Defense” 238). Like human beings,

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Teleological entities pursue the realization of their interests, and Taylor asserts that to harm the good of a teleological entity thwarts interests and denies inherent worth (P. Taylor, Respect 71–72). Each living thing endeavors to maintain its existence. In this ongoing struggle for survival, the unique capacities of each teleological being justify “the ascription of inherent worth to life in general” (“Inherent” 259–60). The essence of goal and function ascriptions—the essence of teleology—is survival. “The only thing that anything in nature is designed to accomplish is its own success” (G. Williams 156). Teleological entities strive to persist genetically. c. Equal Moral Consideration Entities that have inherent worth are all equally deserving of moral consideration (P. Taylor, Respect 79). Anymals that have a good of their own, from the rhinoceros auklet to the elephant shrew, have moral standing. This moral standing carries corresponding duties for moral agents. Taylor asserts that because of teleology, because organisms “grow, respond to stimuli, reproduce, resist dying, assimilate, and use materials from their environment” in order to survive, we ought to respect their efforts and their lives (Scoville 121). There is a measure of equality in biological beings—all have adapted successfully and are able to survive in their particular environment (Gunn, “Traditional” 151). Taylor acknowledges this equality, and this remarkable endeavor that we are all engaged in, and requires human beings to regard “every entity which has a good of its own as possessing inherent worth—the same inherent worth, since none is superior to another” (Respect 155). 4. Moral Agents and Moral Patients In Taylor’s work, as in Regan’s, moral agents can be held morally accountable. In contrast, moral patients are not morally accountable; they cannot do right, nor can they do wrong. Also as in Regan’s Rights View, Taylor considers most humans to be moral agents, while anymals (and some humans) are moral patients—though he

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admits he cannot be certain about the moral status of anymals (Respect 14). Taylor’s definition of a moral agent includes the ability to form judgments about right and wrong; the ability to engage in moral deliberation, that is to consider and weigh moral reasons for and against various courses of conduct open to choice; the ability to make decisions on the basis of those reasons; the ability to exercise the necessary resolve and willpower to carry out those decisions; and the capacity to hold oneself answerable to others for failing to carry them out. (Respect 14)

5. Rights Taylor introduces and discusses various types of rights in his theory of Respect for Nature. a. Legal Rights Taylor notes that nonhuman entities have legal rights in the Western world. He defines legal rights as entitlements established by law. He cites the Endangered Species Act and also laws that prohibit recreational killing of “game” anymals in certain places at certain times, as proof that both plants and anymals have legal rights (Respect 223). He notes that legal rights are distinct from moral rights. b. Moral Rights Taylor does not ascribe moral rights to anymals. He argues that moral rights, in contrast to legal rights, can only be ascribed to “persons.” For Taylor, a “person” is an entity that has interests and purposes, preferences and plans, a sense of personal identity over time, and makes autonomous choices or valuations (Respect 33–36). Additionally, “persons” have self-respect, can exercise or enjoy rights, and hold others to account (Respect 246, 251). Taylor also asserts that “persons” are autonomous, rational beings who choose their own value system and direct their own lives on the basis of their value system (P. Taylor, Respect 36). Taylor does not find that anymals (or plants) fulfill the necessary set of criteria for “personhood,” and so he grants only human beings this status, a status that, in Taylor’s view, carries moral rights. In Taylor’s theory, bearers of moral rights “are acknowledged to have supreme authority over those conditions of their lives which are essential to preserving their personhood” (“Inherent” 26). Furthermore, for Taylor, moral rights require that one be a member of a community

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of moral agents. Anymals do not have such supreme authority in Taylor’s view; he does not recognize them as “persons,” or as bearers of moral rights. c. Human Rights Taylor describes human rights as rooted in “human ethics based on respect for persons.” Taylor views human rights as central to the structure and function of societies (Respect 234). “The principle of respect for persons is built into the very structure of the moral community and serves as the ultimate ground of the rules of duty within the domain of human ethics . . . [and] serves as the foundation for universal human rights” (P. Taylor, Respect 39). Taylor writes that human rights belong “to all persons in virtue of their personhood. . . . Thus they are universal (belonging to every person) and equal (the same for all persons)” (“Inherent” 25). Basic human rights consist in a set of guaranteed opportunities and permissions which make it possible for one to (choose to) maintain oneself as a living organism and to seek those ends of interest that make up the central values of one’s self-determined conception of a meaningful life. Thus our basic rights set boundaries of inviolability, as it were, around the core of our existence. (“Inherent” 25)

Taylor lists several human rights: • Physical security: the right to subsistence and security, including the “physical necessities of biological survival,” the right not to be killed, and the right of physical safety (Respect 235). • Liberty: the right to liberty entails “freedom from positive external constraints upon the pursuit of one’s permissible interests” (Respect 237). “Permissible” means those interests that do not infringe on the rights of others, or break a valid moral rule, including “the right to take effective steps to realize the goals we have set for ourselves, without hindrances or obstacles placed in our way by others”; we are “at liberty to pursue our good as we see fit,” but not necessarily to have our good realized (Respect 237–39). • Autonomy: the right to autonomy includes the right to self-determination, which allows individuals to lead their own lives, “based on goals they set for themselves and values they have chosen for themselves. . . . [T ]hey are accordingly self-directed and self-governed beings” (Respect 239).

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Taylor asserts that human rights maintain the integrity of persons: “[W]e must conceive of rights as protecting those conditions essential to the rights-holder’s existence as the kind of being it is” (“Inherent” 27). For Taylor, those conditions essential to our welfare are those conditions to which we have a moral right. Taylor grants human autonomy, but insists on concurrent moral obligations. He asserts that morality assumes each person to be the “center of autonomous choice, living (or potentially capable of living) a way of life according to his or her own value-system,” and obligated to all other moral agents according to rules of ethics (Respect 37). Autonomy necessarily involves limits, and self-respect rather than self-interest forms the basis of human rights. Consequently, “where the preservation of the whole system of rights is at stake, it is understood that our rights can justifiably be overridden, with or without our consent” (“Inherent” 25–26). Taylor comes full circle back to legal rights. Moral rights become laws, Taylor explains, because “rational and autonomous persons” unanimously adopt such rules when they “give equal weight to every person’s value-system and at the same time make it possible for each to pursue the realization of his or her own value-system in ways compatible with everyone else’s similar pursuit” (Respect 38). Moral rights, according to Taylor, inevitably become law because it is in everyone’s best interest to secure, protect, and defend human rights with human laws. d. A Parallel Theory Taylor maintains that the language of moral rights cannot be applied to anymals and plants because this would imply that other living beings have rights in the same manner that humans have rights, which he insists they do not. He adds that moral rights (such as human rights) are not necessary for the protection of nonhuman entities, that his theory of environmental ethics offers nonpersons the same securities that human rights offer persons (Respect 254). As one might then expect, Taylor’s theory of environmental ethics parallels human ethics. He differentiates two categories of ethical conduct: human ethics and environmental ethics. The former is grounded in respect for persons, the later in respect for nature (Respect 26). Just as respect for persons is manifest in human rights, “rules of duty governing our treatment of the natural world and its inhabitants” exemplify respect for nature (P. Taylor, “Ethics” 203). Taylor

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asserts that there is no reason for anymals or plants to have moral rights if we adopt the environmental ethic of Respect for Nature. 6. Philosophical Principles and Standards Taylor explains the principles and standards to which both human and environmental ethics might be held. Moral rules must be • • • • •

general in form, universally applicable to all moral agents, intended to be applied disinterestedly, intended as normative for all moral agents, and considered to override all nonmoral norms (Respect 27).

Taylor rejects moral intuition on the grounds that it impedes the process of seeking ethical truths (Respect 23). C. Taylor’s Respect for Nature Taylor’s theory of environmental ethics consists of a belief system, attitude, and set of rules, the first of which leads to the second, which leads into the third. The “belief-system supports and makes intelligible the adopting of the attitude, and the rules and standards give concrete expression to that attitude in practical life” (Respect 44). Taylor describes four rules and five principles that offer guidance for the practical application of his environmental theory, but first he builds a foundation, which consists of the belief system and attitude central to Taylor’s theory of Respect for Nature. Taylor notes that an “outlook” cannot be proven true or false. He defends the biocentric outlook because the “beliefs that make up the content of the biocentric outlook are scientifically established” and “firmly rooted in the findings of the physical and biological sciences” (“In Defense” 240, Respect 160). A worldview stands or falls based on well-established criteria: comprehensiveness, coherence and internal consistency, freedom from obscurity and semantic vacuity, and consistency with known empirical truths. Taylor holds the biocentric outlook up to this light and concludes that it is sound (Respect 158–61).

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1. Belief System—Biocentric Outlook An individual holds a belief system, which in turn supports a certain attitude. Taylor’s belief system, the biocentric outlook, has three core features. a. Interdependence “Each animal and plant in the natural world pursues its own good in its own way and therefore is similar, in that respect, to a human” (P. Taylor, “In Defense” 237). Those who hold a biocentric outlook will view themselves as members of the “Earth’s Community of Life,” dependent for existence on the “biological system of nature” (P. Taylor, Respect 44). One who holds a biocentric outlook will recognize people as part of the earth’s vast interdependent community wherein each organism exists on the same terms as each other living organism (P. Taylor, Respect 99). “The biocentric outlook recognizes a natural world where each species, including humans, is an integral, interdependent element, and the welfare of each living thing is “determined not only by the physical conditions of its environment but also by its relations to other living things” (P. Taylor, Respect 100). In Taylor’s theory, all life is ecologically interdependent. The unending “reality and universality of this condition throughout the whole realm of life on Earth” unites “humans and non-humans in a single system of relationships” (P. Taylor, “In Defense” 239). Realizing this simple truth of our existence is basic to the biocentric outlook. To elucidate the interconnected nature of existence on planet earth, Taylor turns to teleology. The biocentric outlook recognizes each organism—plant and anymal—as a unique goal-oriented being “pursuing its own good in its own unique way. [Each] living thing is conceived as a unified system of organized activity, the constant tendency of which is to preserve its existence by protecting and promoting its well-being” (Respect 45). The biocentric outlook does not describe what any given entity’s well-being might entail. Some—insects in particular—sacrifice individuals for the sake of species, for the furthering of group goals, revealing some of the many diverse methods by which living beings “realize their own biological potentialities” (P. Taylor, “In Defense” 238). Each species is unique, and each teleological entity carries out “its biological functions according to the laws of its species-specific nature”

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(P. Taylor, “Ethics” 210). The good of both plants and anymals requires that their “ecological equilibrium” be maintained; the same holds true for the well-being of humans (P. Taylor, “Ethics” 209). A jaguarundi and an olive-sided flycatcher pursue their goods in different ways. The earth’s abundance of species holds a vast array of “goods” they hope to satisfy, and a plethora of methods for achieving satisfaction. b. Equality Individuals who hold Taylor’s biocentric outlook will not place humans either at the center or at the top of the natural order. This makes perfect sense when viewed in light of our interconnected nature. We cannot be separate or above those on whom we are dependent for our very existence. Taylor’s vision “requires humans to treat other creatures in such a way that there is no bias in favor of humans just because they are human” (P. Taylor, “In Defense” 241). Morality rooted in the biocentric outlook entails “a disposition to ascribe to wild animals and plants the same inherent worth which we attribute to our fellow humans, and to regard them as deserving of equal consideration” (P. Taylor, “In Defense” 240). The biocentric outlook holds that, regardless of our animal nature, it is never acceptable to destroy a life “merely on the grounds that it would benefit human beings” (Regan, “Nature” 32). In short, the biocentric outlook entails “species impartiality,” which means “all living beings are judged to be equally worthy of moral concern and consideration” (Respect 46). To “accept the [biocentric] outlook is to understand the place of humans in the domain of life on Earth as one of fundamental equality with other members . . . an equality that extends to all forms of life in our planet’s natural ecosystems” (P. Taylor, “In Defense” 240). c. Insider’s Perspective The third expectation of Taylor’s biocentric outlook is that we view other beings from the reference points of those other beings—from a point of view that sees each entity’s shared interest in “survival, health, and well-being” (Respect 124). If we are to understand the life of hagfish, we must attempt to move behind their eyes, into their skin, and see the world from their vantage point. This outlook offers “the most complete realization, cognitively and imaginatively, of what it is to be that particular individual”; the biocentric outlook allows us to “let the reality of another’s life enter the world of our own consciousness” (Respect 128).

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2. Attitude—Respect for Nature Taylor’s biocentric outlook “underlies, supports, and makes intelligible” the attitude of respect for nature, and is critical to achieving respect for nature (Respect 167). Virtues are important to Taylor’s theory because the attitudes that lead one to care about the environment are rooted in human character (Respect 199). Virtues such as conscientiousness, integrity, courage, perseverance, benevolence, sympathy, impartiality, trustworthiness, and fairness are therefore critical to Respect for Nature. An individual with these virtues will accept environmental ethics in the same way that most people accept human ethics—as a fundamental and formative aspect of life. Those who hold an attitude of respect for nature will not harm or interfere with the world around them. They will honor “the natural status of wild living things” and strive to preserve “their existence as part of the order of nature” (P. Taylor, Respect 81). Those who respect nature will use reason to determine which actions are rooted in respect for nature, and they will strive for policies and practices that preserve natural ecosystems. One who holds an attitude of respect for nature will be emotionally engaged so as to feel pleased or displeased according to whether or not events uphold or damage the earth’s natural ecosystems (P. Taylor, Respect 81–83). But as in Kant’s ethical theory, actions must be motivated by ethical obligations, not personal affection. Actions that maintain natural ecosystems do not express respect for nature unless they are motivated by a respect for the inherent worth of living organisms. Furthermore, actions that express respect for nature must be done “as a matter of moral principle” (P. Taylor, Respect 85). Moral imperatives guide individuals who respect nature, and such people pursue ethical actions in a disinterested fashion (P. Taylor, Respect 92). In Taylor’s theory, intentions matter. [P]eople show genuine respect for nature only when they act or decline to act out of consideration and concern for the good of wild living things. . . . To express in practical life one’s respect for nature, one’s intentions and aims must be directed toward not interfering with or harming animals and plants in natural ecosystems and to preserving their wild status for their sake. Having those aims and intentions as one’s ultimate ends is essential to having true respect for nature. (Respect 84–85)

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3. Four Rules and Moral Triage Respect for nature, in Taylor’s theory, is “the most fundamental kind of moral commitment that one can make,” a moral commitment that serves as a ground for rationally motivated decisions and actions as well as emotive responses, a moral commitment grounded on no more fundamental concept (Respect 90). The following four rules guide a moral agent who accepts the biocentric outlook and who bases actions on an attitude of respect for nature: a. Nonmaleficence Nonmaleficence prohibits actions that are destructive or harmful to natural organisms or their habitats. Moral agents are expected to refrain from harming or destroying a teddy bear cholla in Arizona and a chum salmon in Russia. Nonmaleficence is an injunction not to harm “any entity in the natural environment that has a good of its own,” to refrain from killing organisms and “from any action that would be seriously detrimental to the good of an organism, speciespopulation, or life community” (P. Taylor, Respect 172). b. Noninterference Noninterference requires that moral agents refrain from “placing restrictions on the freedom of individual organisms” and from meddling in the natural lives of ecosystems and biotic communities, or in the lives of individual organisms (P. Taylor, Respect 173). No matter how good one’s intentions might be, noninterference requires that we maintain a laissez-faire policy, allowing wild creatures to live out their natural lives, in their natural environment, undisturbed. Noninterference demands the complete absence of human intervention, even actions intended to preserve the life of an organism (Respect 173–75). If we fail to practice noninterference, we intrude into the domain of the natural world and terminate an organism’s existence as a wild creature. It does not matter that our treatment of them may improve their strength, promote their growth, and increase their chances for a long, healthy life. By destroying their status as wild animals or plants, our interference in their lives amounts to an absolute negation of their natural freedom. (P. Taylor, Respect 175)

Taylor’s theory demands that we refrain from manipulation, control, modification, or management of natural ecosystems. “Respect for nature means that we acknowledge the sufficiency of the natural world to

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sustain its own proper order throughout the whole domain of life” (P. Taylor, Respect 177). Humans are not necessary to the natural processes of other living beings; any human attempts to alter the natural course constitute an undesirable intrusion into the natural world. c. Fidelity Fidelity forbids gaining an entity’s trust in order to deceive and gain advantage for immoral reasons. We are required to maintain integrity in our actions so that the expectations of anymals are fulfilled. Taylor targets hunting, trapping, and fishing as particularly deceitful. Such actions intentionally deceive anymals with calls, shiny lures, and scents. When a sport killer uses a duck call to attract a mallard into shooting range, that human being deceives the duck and then kills her. Such human actions treat anymals as a means to human ends, usually the pleasure of killing and consuming, and are the antithesis of respect for nature (Respect 184). d. Restitutive Justice Moral agents who demonstrate respect for nature will hold themselves accountable for actions that wrong a moral subject. Restitutive justice requires moral agents to make restitution whenever an agent has wronged a subject. Moral subjects are wronged whenever one of the three previously mentioned rules are transgressed (nonmaleficence, noninterference, and fidelity). Restitution is intended to restore the balance of justice between moral agent and subject (P. Taylor, Respect 186). The rule of restitution requires moral agents to interfere with natural ecosystems in order to mend individuals or ecosystems damaged by moral agents. Even when moral agents cannot avoid harming wild organisms, “an act of restitutive justice is called for in recognition of the inherent worth of what has been destroyed” (P. Taylor, Respect 189). Taylor notes that all of us who live in modern, industrialized societies owe “restitutive justice to the natural world and its wild inhabitants” (P. Taylor, Respect 191). Taylor offers a few methods of restitutive justice: “[S]etting aside wilderness areas, protecting endangered and threatened species, restoring the quality of an environment that has been degraded, and aiding plants and animals to return to a healthy state when they have been weakened or injured by human causes” (Respect 198). If organisms have been killed, it is not possible to restore moral equilibrium,

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Taylor notes, but restitution ought to be offered to other living members of the same species. If an entire ecosystem has been destroyed, similar lands in other locations might be set aside for permanent protection, or a similar ecosystem might be cleaned of pollutants (Respect 188, 190). e. Moral Triage—Prioritizing the Four Rules Having outlined four basic rules that guide the ethical conduct of those who demonstrate an attitude of respect for nature rooted in the biocentric outlook, Taylor offers examples of how these rules are to be prioritized. In Taylor’s theory, the duty of nonmaleficence has primary place and must never be superseded. Noninterference, on the other hand, can be outweighed by either the fidelity rule or restitutive justice, provided that “great good is brought about and no creature is permanently harmed by the permitted interference” (P. Taylor, Respect 197). Taylor uses the example of putting up a fence to maintain fidelity. If a patch of woods has become a place where animals dwell, a place where they have learned to feel safe, and if that woods is threatened by children and other marauding humans, a fence might reasonably be built to protect the woods. The intent of the fence would be to prevent humans from upsetting woodland residents and would be morally acceptable because it maintains fidelity established between the human who owns the land and the animals that dwell therein (P. Taylor, Respect 195). Such a fence would prevent some animals from traveling outside the barrier, but would be an overall benefit to those within. As this example shows, one who respects nature may interfere with wild organisms in order to maintain fidelity in a way that will bring about an overall greater good. Similarly, fidelity can be overruled for restitutive justice if a significant good is gained and little harm done. Taylor offers the example of cleaning up after an oil spill: “To clean the oil from their feathers the birds must be caught, and this often involves breaking a trust they place in us to leave them alone. . . . [An] attempt to help them justifies the momentary acts of infidelity that cannot be avoided” (Respect 197). Taylor next postulates cases of competing interests between humans and other organisms and explains how his four ethical rules resolve “moral dilemmas that arise when human rights and values conflict with the good of non-humans” (Respect 256). It is in this section,

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while explaining how conflicts of interest are to be resolved, that Taylor reveals how human rights and respect for nature interact. “Every society . . . interferes with and makes use of some parts of the natural world” (P. Taylor, Respect 257). Taylor reiterates, when one respects nature it is “morally irrelevant . . . that wild animals and plants, unlike human persons, are not bearers of moral rights” (P. Taylor, Respect 262). Human rights are only relevant within the membership of a moral community. Our rights hold no sway in our interactions with the larger world. Interspecies interactions are informed and guided by the biocentric outlook and the concurrent attitude of respect for nature. Inherent worth, possessed by every being that has a good of its own, requires that each entity receive equal concern and consideration alongside humans (P. Taylor, Respect 260–62). Taylor reasserts his conviction that humans do not automatically take precedence over the good of other organisms (Respect 152). 4. Five Principles Taylor introduces five principles to represent five morally relevant considerations. The application of these five principles reveals how Taylor’s four ethical rules (stated above) are enacted in situations of conflict between humans and wildlife (Respect 263). a. Self-Defense Of Taylor’s five principles, only this one applies to conflicts that are life threatening to moral agents (Respect 269). Taylor’s self-defense principle offsets nonmaleficence, allowing moral agents to protect themselves against dangerous organisms. We are, however, morally obligated to avoid creating situations that are likely to require selfdefense (P. Taylor, Respect 268). When conflict cannot be avoided, self-defense is permissible, even killing. Humans are not obligated to sacrifice their own lives for other forms of life (“In Defense” 243). Taylor defines a harmful or dangerous organism as “one whose activities threaten the life or basic health” of moral agents (Respect 265). Self-defense allows moral agents to protect themselves against moral subjects, even if other organisms will be destroyed along with those that threaten our lives or safety (P. Taylor, Respect 266). Taylor explains that self-defense is species blind and human personhood is worthy of preservation. Taylor cautions that the principle of self-defense does not indicate that moral agents have greater inherent worth than moral subjects.

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It is irrelevant that most humans are moral subjects; we are entitled to self-defense (P. Taylor, Respect 266). The principle of self-defense merely acknowledges that personhood is fundamentally worthy of preservation (Respect 268). We have a right to defend our lives against other organisms just as morality allows people to defend themselves against one another without indicating that dangerous individuals have a lesser inherent worth (Respect 267). b. Proportionality Proportionality (and the next principle, that of minimum wrong) applies to cases that involve basic interests of moral subjects and nonbasic interests of persons. Taylor defines “nonbasic” interests as interests that promote the good of an entity, and “basic” interests as those that promote the good of an entity and are necessary for an organism to maintain existence as the type of being that it is. Humans have a right to have their basic interests fulfilled because they hold moral rights—human rights. But human actions are not considered “morally legitimate,” in Taylor’s theory, if they pursue nonbasic human interests that are “intrinsically incompatible with the attitude of respect for nature” (Respect 272–75). Taylor asserts that such actions negate the inherent worth of wild things and are therefore not permissible, even though such actions are acceptable within the much narrower framework of human ethics. The principle of proportionality targets activities such as the ivory and fur trade, collecting butterflies or wildflowers, selling exotic anymals, and recreational killing (such as hunting and fishing when flesh is not necessary for survival). Because these actions sacrifice the basic interests of other entities for nonbasic human interests, these activities fail to demonstrate respect for nature and fall outside of Taylor’s description of acceptable moral behavior. The principle of proportionality allows that when there is “a conflict between human values and the good of (harmless) wild animals and plants, greater weight is to be given to basic than to nonbasic interests, no matter what species, human or other, the competing claims arise from” (P. Taylor, Respect 278). c. Minimum Wrong As with proportionality, the minimum-wrong principle applies to conflicts of interest that involve nonbasic human interests and basic interests of moral subjects. However, in this case the conflicts are

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compatible with respect for nature (i.e., the conflicts do not demonstrate an exploitative attitude that fails to honor the inherent worth of moral subjects). Although damaging to other beings, such actions are permitted because they involve valuable human ends. Taylor offers examples: creating a park or building a dam, constructing an airport or an art museum. The construction of “buildings, highways, airports, and harbors” represent nonbasic interests, yet these are all necessary to “high-level civilization based on advancement of scientific and humanistic knowledge” complete with an “aesthetically rich culture” (Respect 289). These activities cause harm to ecosystems, but are central to humans as the type of creatures that they are. In such cases gains outweigh undesirable consequences, “even when such weight is assigned by one who has full respect for nature” (P. Taylor, Respect 277). Taylor writes: “[W]hether people who have true respect for nature would give up the activities involved in these situations depends on the value they place on the various interests being furthered,” and on any possibilities for less damaging alternatives (Respect 277). The principle of minimum wrong allows that “rational, informed, and autonomous persons who hold the attitude of respect for nature,” and who feel it is important to engage in certain activities that harm wild anymals and plants, may do so (P. Taylor, Respect 282). However, all such actions must involve “fewer wrongs (violations of duties) than any alternative” (P. Taylor, Respect 283), and the actions must be valued in and of themselves. Alternatively, they must be directed toward a work of art, natural wonder, historical monument, or aspect of nature that is supremely valued by “rational and enlightened” persons for aesthetic, historical, or cultural reasons, or as “a matter of personal sentiment, wonder, or admiration” (P. Taylor, Respect 282, 74). Minimum wrong requires us to regulate human development, consumption, and expansion. We are expected to recycle, and clean fouled areas. We must use appropriate energy-efficient, clean technologies, and we must limit and control damage with environmental legislation. These restrictions minimize wrongs done to nonhumans in natural ecosystems in the process of acting in ways that benefit humans (P. Taylor, Respect 283). Taylor’s minimum-wrong principle also applies to instances where humans kill other entities directly for nonbasic needs. For instance, when we take organisms for art, research, or education, and when we use pesticides or herbicides, minimum harm allows for this type

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of destruction, but requires that these acts be carefully scrutinized, and that damage be minimized (P. Taylor, Respect 290–91). d. Distributive Justice Distributive justice provides for the “just distribution of interestfulfillment” when the interests of divergent parties are basic, and when moral patient poses no threat to moral agent. The purpose of distributive justice is to “make it possible for wild animals and plants to carry on their natural existence side by side with human cultures” (P. Taylor, Respect 293). Taylor offers two examples: hunting wild anymals for food where extreme environmental conditions permit no other food source (as in the Arctic or at high altitudes) and culling wild anymals in environments where conditions do not allow one to live from horticulture or anymal husbandry. Generally speaking, Taylor explains, we must kill to live. All entities have inherent worth, so it is no less wrong to kill a plant than an animal (Respect 293–95). While the suffering of animals is of concern, Taylor maintains that if animals are raised and killed humanely, only increased land use necessary for this endeavor offers a cogent argument in favor of vegetarianism. He admits that we “can greatly reduce the amount of cultivated land needed for human food production by changing from a meat-eating culture to a vegetarian culture. . . . Vegetarians, in short, use much less of the Earth’s surface to sustain themselves than do meat-eaters. And the less humans use for themselves the more there is for other species” (Respect 296). Distributive justice requires that we consider carefully whether or not we can avoid eating wild anymals. If eating other creatures cannot be avoided, we are obligated to eat those that are plentiful and to hunt and kill them as humanely as possible (Respect 294). Taylor presents four means of exemplifying distributive justice: • permanent habitat allocation: habitat set aside permanently, where nonhuman entities can live free from human interference; • common conservation: sharing resources fairly with nonhuman entities that depend for their existence on the same limited resources; • environmental integration: integrating wild organisms into nonnatural environments—such as golf courses and city parks—by taking specific measures to make these environments safe and habitable; and • rotation: completely removing ourselves either temporarily or permanently from environments, when possible, such as by closing

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and restoring mines, research and specimen points, temporary buildings, emergency water sources, or seasonal clamming marshes (Respect 302). Each of these measures allows wild entities to recover and find reprieve from admissible human interference. e. Restitutive Justice Restitutive justice acknowledges that although “fair shares are equal shares . . . this ideal is never wholly realizable” (P. Taylor, Respect 304). Though the principles of distributive justice and minimum wrong help balance the scales, harms are still incurred by nonhumans because of humans. Therefore, restitution is due as an attempt to restore the balance of justice. Taylor explains that “whenever we cause harm to animals and plants in the pursuit of our human values, some recognition must be given to the fact that our treatment of them is prima facie wrong” (Respect 286). “The greater the harm done, the greater the compensation required,” and we ought to focus on “whole ecosystems and their biotic communities” in order to maximize benefits offered to the greatest number of individuals (Respect 305). “We can, as it were, return the favor they do us by doing something for their sake” (Respect 306). Summary Taylor summarizes his theory of environmental ethics as “a matter of fairness to wild animals and plants . . . [aimed at] a fundamental harmony between nature and human civilization” (Respect 305). He acknowledges that his theory requires a “profound moral reorientation” (Respect 313), a reorientation that must begin with “an inner change in our moral beliefs and commitments” (Respect 312). Taylor’s theory requires “sensitivity and awareness” yet demonstrates that respect for life is not vacuous; it provides a “ceteris paribus encouragement in the direction of nutritional, scientific, and medical practices of a genuinely life-respecting sort” (Goodpaster, “On Being” 324). Taylor offers insightful and challenging possibilities for a comprehensive protectionist ethic—one that moves beyond anymals to protect plants, “habitat,” and the environment in general. Respect for Nature has almost “come to define the perspective of biocentric individualism,” an environmental ethic where individuals—rather than ecosystems—are the focus of moral attention (Sterba 191). Taylor’s

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Respect for Nature spans the gap between environmentalists and protectionists, offering a bridge where these two stirring forces of change might meet on common ground. D. Discussion Taylor makes four controversial assumptions; his theory of Respect for Nature entails several theoretical problems. Most importantly, Taylor’s work is harmed by a tendency toward humanocentrism, as seen most clearly in his exclusive acceptance of human rights. 1. Controversial Assumptions a. Species Versus Individuals While both species loss and the loss of individuals are natural to life on planet earth, accelerated loss in recent decades—caused by human activities—are of much concern to environmentalists and protectionists alike. The vast majority of environmental philosophers are holistic, arguing that ethics ought to focus on protecting species rather than individuals. As with pigs in Hawaii and goats on San Clemente Island, this difference of focus has caused considerable tension between environmentalists and protectionists. Taylor, an environmentalist, asserts that the individual has preeminence, and his version of environmental ethics is much more compatible with protectionist ethics than the work of most environmental philosophers (A. Taylor, Animals 162). For most environmentalists individuals are expendable, but species are not. Even if we believe we will gain significantly from the loss of a species, holistic protectionists argue that we ought to preserve each species because each “has moral significance in its own right” (L. Johnson 169). In contrast, the individuals that make up a given species are of less concern. “The good of a species or the good of an ecosystem or the good of the whole biotic community can trump the good of individual living beings” (Sterba 200–01). For environmentalists, the importance of any one organism is dependent on the larger group (Agar 402). “Exotics” such as the pigs in Hawaii and goats on San Clemente Island ought to be eliminated to protect rare local plants. More radical holistic environmentalists will even contend that human beings who threaten endangered species ought to be eliminated (Hettinger 5). Holistic environmentalists argue that anyone

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who focuses on the individual neglects the interests of the larger group, or community, by protecting harmful individuals (L. Johnson 238). Holistic protectionists assert that biological sciences indicate that it is more consistent with nature to favor species; natural selection seems careless with individuals (Rolston, “Value” 22). In fact, the death of individuals is necessary to the healthy maintenance of the whole: The death of individuals, often violently by predation, is necessary both for the health of species and the viability of ecosystems. Zebras have, presumably, an interest in survival, but the future of the veldt depends, partly, on the regular killing of zebras by lions and hyenas. To understand the sense in which it is good that predators kill their prey, it is necessary to abandon the individualistic frame of reference and adopt a holistic approach. . . . Indeed, where major predators have been exterminated . . . it may even be a duty of humans to assume the role of major predator. [Where] browsing mammals . . . have been introduced, the culling or even extermination of these species is essential to the survival of native forests and other vulnerable habitat. (Gunn, “Traditional” 149)

Those who favor protecting species often point to the predator/prey relationship: Prey species depend on predators for the maintenance of healthy populations at sustainable numbers. If individuals within a “prey” species have an interest in predators, perhaps we are obligated to reintroduce predators wherever they have been eliminated, for the benefit of the prey. (Human hunters do not fill the role of predators because people do not select out the weakest members of a given population. By taking the strongest members, hunters do not benefit prey species.) Being eaten is not in any one individual’s interest. “When a wolf kills a deer, the deer clearly suffers loss. From the point of view of the deer population and of the ecosystem, however, such a loss is actually a positive value” (Scoville 120). Because of this predator/prey relationship, in which a prey species is made stronger by predators, holistic philosophers note that preserving individuals per se is misguided because this method cannot “serve to protect the ongoing integrity of nature” (Gunn, “Traditional” 149). Individuals must be lost in order to sustain a healthy overall population. Holistic philosophers seem to misrepresent the situation. While zebras and deer do have an interest in predators, each has a personal interest in some other zebra or deer being eaten. Intraspecies competition means that individuals have an interest in the demise of other members within their own species. Thus deer and zebra do have an interest

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in having predators kill others of their kind. It is a misrepresentation to suggest that the zebra or deer eaten by a big cat has an interest in being eaten. In fact, individual members of a species continue to compete with one another even when extinction looms large on the horizon (G. Williams 53). This indicates that preserving individuals is exactly what the mechanisms of nature do. For a deer, zebra, or human being, personal life is of utmost importance. After all, human beings are a prey species, too, and who amongst us would agree that we have an interest in being eaten by bears or lions in order to strengthen our overall species? We protect biological diversity for our sake, not for the sake of the individuals involved. We take delight in marveling at elephants; we do not want to lose the possible medicinal value of the chestnut weevil—we attach great importance to biodiversity for the maintenance and evolution of all life—especially our own. The holistic focus on biodiversity tends to be rooted in human self-interest (Norton, Why 162), and fosters a “collector’s instinct,” preserving a few of this, and a few of that, simply because these creatures please us or seem important to our welfare (Naverson, “Animal” 162). In contrast, moral individualists believe that what matters is the individual characteristics of organisms, and not the classes to which they are assigned. The heart of moral individualism is an equal concern for the welfare of all beings, with distinctions made among them only when there are relevant differences that justify differences in treatment. (Rachels, Created 222)

Those who focus moral attention on the individual argue that an ethical theory failing to protect singular vulnerable components of our ecosystem is inadequate (Callicott, “Intrinsic Value, Quantum” 161). Emphasizing the whole abrogates the value of the parts, particularly the value of individuals, whether human or animal (Midgley, “A Problem” 62). Those who favor the holistic approach counter that individualists might allow entire species to be lost while laboring to save a few individuals (L. Johnson 235). But how can an entire species be lost if one strives to save each individual of that species? An individualist’s approach might lose an entire species only if members of a species are allowed to perish in order to free them from ongoing suffering and exploitation (E. Johnson, “Animal” 267). This might be a reasonable solution for the thousands of poultry and pigs, rabbits and rats, maintained for human exploitation in the food and medical industries.

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It might also be necessary to kill an individual or individuals if one is to save a species, for instance, to prevent the spread of a deadly virus. Aside from such unusual instances it is difficult to see how protecting individuals of a given species might cause the extinction of that species. To save individuals of a species is in fact to save that species. Furthermore, caring for individuals, in most instances, is likely to favor rare or endangered species. Killing a member of a rare species (or allowing it to die) adds, proportionally, greater stress to the remaining members. For instance, the difficulty of finding a mate in a dwindling species is significantly enhanced when one member is lost. Consider the rare black stilt in comparison with the plentiful pied stilt: Because pied stilts are plentiful, killing five does not have a real impact on the ability of the remaining individuals to mate successfully. By contrast, killing five black stilts has a serious impact on the chances of other stilts to breed. Further, a small reduction in the ability of current stilts to produce offspring translates into a much greater reduction in the chances that their offspring will produce offspring. (Agar 413–14)

Concern for individuals favors individuals who are members of a rare species because of the heightened impact of one loss on all remaining members. Thus, favoring individuals also favors rare species. Control over the fate of populations “brings with it some responsibility for the welfare of the individuals of which they are comprised” (Kirkwood 140). Moreover, “the well-being of species, more often than not, follows when justice is secured for individual members” (Thero 101). An individualist might well agree with the holistic protectionist who wishes to remove an introduced species, such as the pigs or goats that were introduced to island settings, but they are apt to disagree on methods. The individualist is more likely to advocate relocation out of regard for the individuals involved, even though relocation is not without its own set of concerns (such as environmental impact) as did both People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals and the Fund for Animals in Hawaii and San Clemente. Perhaps the strongest argument in favor of the individualist point of view is that this approach is consistent with current Western ethics as applied to human life; holistic philosophy and practice are not. If we approached one another holistically, we would not nurture and maintain individuals with hereditary disorders such as hemophilia. It would be better for the species as a whole if those with genetic disorders did not breed, yet individuals with “bad” genes often produce offspring, and are not only permitted to do so by Western law and

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majority moral conscience, but assisted in tending young who are born biologically challenged and who in turn are afforded the opportunity to breed. Are we prepared to prevent those with genetic disorders—even mild disorders like asthma and impaired vision—from passing their genes on to the next generation? Are we prepared to carry a holistic ethic into our own ranks? If not, how can we justify the holistic approach with regard to other species? Taylor’s focus on the individual is critical to his theory of Respect for Nature. This feature makes his theory unique and protectionist friendly. But while in theory Taylor’s focus is on the individual, in practice this is not always the case. For instance, Taylor argues that it is a greater wrong to kill a rare wildflower than to kill a human in an act of self-defense (“In Defense” 242–43). To focus on “rarity” seems out of place in a theory devoted to individual welfare. “Endangered” and “rare” are concepts that arise when an individual is viewed as part of a whole. Every individual is unique; every individual is “rare.” Similarly, Taylor suggests that if we are to eat the bodies of anymals, we ought to eat those that are “plentiful” (Respect 294). Members of a species might be “plentiful,” but not an individual. While abundance and rarity are morally relevant, Taylor’s focus on individuals requires him to explain his use of these terms. Perhaps most blatantly, Taylor writes that his principle of restitutive justice ought to focus on “the soundness and health of whole ecosystems and their biotic communities” (Respect 305). Without clear explanations, such comments detract from Taylor’s focus on individual welfare. Taylor’s theory is rooted in the moral significance of individuals. While inconsistencies are noted in his individualistic approach, this is not to suggest that his theory is holistic. It is not. Taylor’s theory does offer a closer partnership between individualists (protectionists) and those who are generally holistic (environmentalists). b. Teleology Taylor writes that “all organisms, whether conscious or not, are teleological centers of life because each is a unified, coherently ordered system of goal-oriented activities that has a constant tendency to protect and maintain the organism’s existence” (Respect 122). In Taylor’s theory the basis of inherent worth is teleology—an organism’s selfmaintaining nature—yet teleology is difficult to define and apply. The difficulty Taylor faces is to define exactly what teleology is and apply this concept without absurdity. Taylor must somehow limit

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inherent worth to biological objects so that his theory is able to separate “a barnacle’s good from that of a radium atom” (Agar 399). Teleology has been a topic of philosophical discussion for at least two millennia. Aristotle believed that every part of the body had a specific purpose, and that the body as a whole also had a specific purpose (G. Williams 41). Since Aristotle many books have been written about teleology, yet the concept remains difficult to pin down. Teleology defines instances as diverse as the function of organs and the behavior of species (Mayr 38). At its core, teleology indicates purpose as in the case of goal ascriptions and function ascriptions. In some instances ascriptions of teleological function seem obvious. The wool of a sheep has evolved to keep sheep warm (not to bolster the profits of wool producers or warm human feet). Similarly, the muscles of mammals have most likely evolved for mobility (not for the teeth of flesh eaters). Natural selection has resulted in the wool of sheep and the muscles of deer because these attributes enhance their fitness for survival. (One could argue that the muscles of deer in fact feed carnivores, and that this is so either by divine intent or through natural selection—biology favored predators that ate flesh in areas where deer were numerous. But this fails to explain preexistent muscles in deer. Parsimony requires the least complicated explanation, and so we acknowledge that the flesh of deer evolved for deer and not for flesh eaters.) A radium atom appears to have no comparable complex system of adaptive evolution. It is possible that the theory of evolution contradicts Taylor’s assumption. Perhaps natural selection merely rewards successful combinations of genes, without regard to individuals (Mayr 43). In this case species and individuals would merely be pawns for genes that are endlessly striving to reproduce themselves, using individual organisms and species for their purposes. “If genes are the targets of selection, then the preservation of genes is the most fundamental function or purpose of natural things and an ethic grounded in the maintenance of biological . . . interests must be focused on genes rather than on individual organisms” (Agar 401). If individuals are merely shells for the maintenance of genetic material, genes are the proper focus of Taylor’s teleological environmental theory, not individuals. All genes, one might ask, even genes for hemophilia and Down’s Syndrome? There is yet one more concern regarding teleology. If plants, anymals, species, or ecosystems have a good or well-being, why not machines (Kaufman 60)? Machines maintain themselves in “homeostatic

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equilibrium,” and one can refer to a “running engine’s well being” (Kaufman 59–61). Conversely, determinists highlight machinelike qualities of organisms. Can Taylor’s ethic, based on teleological interests that do not require having a mind or mental desire, logically exclude machines? An organic entity is the product of natural selection and participates in a struggle for existence, neither of which is true for machines. When a living entity dies, parts disintegrate, whereas the parts of machines do not. The telos of a machine is extrinsic, imposed by human beings, whereas the telos of living entities is intrinsic (theological explanations aside) (Rollin 40). Living organisms are “problem-solving complexes” as distinct from machines (including computers) that are “merely among the means that human organisms use to solve problems” (G. Williams 16). These distinctions place living organisms in a separate “teleological” category. While Taylor’s use of teleology seems to distinguish biological entities from mechanical systems, the concept of teleology carries “numerous and seemingly weighty objections” (Mayr 41). Most importantly, Taylor must somehow define this term in such a way as to avoid second-guessing purpose, and he must explain why individuals are the focus of teleology as opposed to genes. c. Inherent Worth Taylor asserts that teleological entities have interests that ought to be respected; he grants such entities inherent worth. While there are several arguments in support of the notion of inherent worth, the existence and nature of inherent worth are controversial and complicated. Different scholars offer different viewpoints (and often refer to inherent value). [M]utely enacted values “occur every time natural beings succeed in maintaining their functioning integrity, achieving “goods” that “are their own”. . . . [E]very time a bluetit finds an insect (or seed) to eat when it is hungry, . . . every time a plant grows taller to reach the sunlight, it, too, is generating or enacting a value. . . . [S]uch values existed in nature before the arrival of human consciousness and will continue to exist even after the disappearance of such consciousness from the world. The source and locus of recognized-articulated values are indeed humans; the source and locus of mutely enacted values are, in addition, other natural nonhuman beings. (Lee 308)

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Some philosophers assert that worth (or value) does not exist in individuals or species. For some, inherent worth only exists in relation to others. Since value is thoroughly relational, goodness for one’s self is inseparable from goodness for others. . . . No warbler eats insects so that it may be of value to the falcon to which it falls prey. . . . Yet, viewed objectively within the interrelationships of the ecosystem, it is just here, in the relationship of insects, warblers, and falcons that value occurs. (Scoville 117–18)

Still other philosophers argue that natural entities must have instrumental value in order to avoid an infinite regress. For instance, if a bird eats a worm, then the worm has instrumental value, and the bird has inherent value. If not, an infinite regress begins which can only end with some end in itself, such as a divine being (Lee 300). Thus inherent value lies in each being—both the worm and the bird. As is the case with Regan’s assertion of inherent value, Taylor’s version of inherent worth is difficult to defend. Does inherent worth reside in the individual, as Taylor contends, or in the species—or is inherent worth only relational? Does inherent worth even exist? 2. Theoretical Considerations a. Natural Taylor calls his theory “Respect for Nature.” He restricts the application of his environmental ethics to plants and animals that are not cultivated or raised and the lands they occupy or might be encouraged to occupy (Respect 3). “What makes them ‘natural’ in the sense meant here,” Taylor writes, “is the fact that the biological and environmental factors determining the structure of relationships holding among their constituent species-populations take place without human intervention” (Respect 4). The defining characteristic, for Taylor, is that humans have not intervened in the environment and biology that affect the relationships of the entities. Yet he admits that “doubts might be raised as to whether any genuinely natural ecosystems now exist on our planet” (Respect 4). Taylor’s use of “natural” seems arbitrary and ill defined. When do “exotic” entities become part of the natural environment? How long would it take for the pigs of Hawaii, or the goats of San Clemente Island, to be accepted as part of the local fauna? “Are ring-necked

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pheasants still exotic in South Dakota? Are daylilies? Are humans?” (Russow 12). Taylor proposes that what is natural exists free of all human intervention. Thus, as Taylor contends, animals produced by factory farming are not natural. . . . Taylor’s view implies, more comprehensively, that breeds of dogs and strains of garden vegetables are also not natural. Each has been selectively bred for a place in the human community. Should we then brand as unnatural and eliminate as exotic everything from cats to carrots . . .? Taylor’s view of natural existence remains problematic, however, because it is not ecological. In any ecosystem, all life is interventionistic. Imagine the ecologically gentle John Muir standing in a Yosemite meadow. His body intervenes between the sun and the summer flowers, casting a shadow. When he walks, he intervenes. . . . The life processes of human beings inevitably come between the Earth as it would be without humans and the Earth as it comes to be with humans. (Scherer 360)

Taylor accepts “human life as an integral part of the natural order of the Earth’s biosphere” (Respect 101). If Taylor accepts a domesticated John Muir and millions of citified humans as an integral part of the “natural” world, on what grounds does he exclude “domestic” buff Orpington chickens and Romney marsh sheep? Taylor’s focus on pure nature makes his theory seem more hypothetical than real. Humans venture into the most remote environments. Our pollution rides the winds and the tides from one vast continent to the next. The greenhouse effect has an impact on the entire earth. Are there any environments, or biological entities, free of human intervention? Can caribou, ground squirrels, maned wolves, bald eagles, or the endangered Mexican grizzly—all of whose numbers are either artificially inflated or deflated according to human desire— be considered “natural”? Are maggots, North American coyotes, European starlings, rock doves (common city pigeons), raccoons, cliff swallows, and fruit flies that live in urban areas “nonnatural”? If Taylor excludes entities whose structures of relationships have been affected by human intervention, will anything be left within the confines of his theory? It seems he must exclude lands on which we have established trails or campgrounds, lands on which we snowmobile, hike, kayak, hunt, ski, sail—or over which we fly. His theory, strictly speaking, excludes any land we affect and the entities that dwell therein. In Taylor’s theory of Respect for Nature, it seems that only by a rare (and very conspicuous) absence of human beings can lands be eligible for protection. Taylor’s selection of “natural” entities seems not only ill defined

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and arbitrary, but counterproductive. Much of what is excluded from his theory as “unnatural” is critical to any theory of environmental ethics. Factory farms pollute the environment and upset the ecological balance, exploit and desecrate vast tracts of land, and release huge quantities of chemicals and waste into the environment (Midgley, “A Problem” 63; Lappe 15–16, 26–27). Given the vast tracts of land and astounding numbers of entities involved, and considering the massive effect of these huge enterprises on the planet, it would seem that any viable environmental ethic would caution against—if not overtly denounce—agribusiness. Yet Taylor’s definition of “natural” fails to protect lands on which we live or the animals we exploit, whether an endangered vicuna, a tabby cat, or a Leicester sheep. Taylor’s theory also seems misguided. Let us assume that half the globe is pristine, and the other half trashed by conglomerate masses of unsightly human civilization. Is the appropriate target for environmental ethics only the untainted land? If there were a place on earth free from human intervention, would such a place be the most likely and reasonable focus of environmental ethics? Environmental ethics stem from concern about how human beings affect the environment. We have learned that pollution in one mud puddle will spread to another, which will eventually leak into surrounding dirt and streams, then flow onwards to lakes and oceans, until it finds its way back to our own local puddle. It is not merely metaphorical to say that how one treats the land and water in one’s backyard affects lands and waters of every other yard and every other entity. Given these interconnections, how can Taylor reasonably exclude even the smallest puddle from his moral theory? Because nothing on earth is independent or isolated—by Taylor’s own admittance—it is unrealistic and counterproductive to limit environmental ethics to narrowly defined geographical areas and their “wild” inhabitants. Taylor’s focus on what might be considered “natural” contradicts his own description of an interrelated web of earth’s Community of Life. This being so, how can he deny the moral importance of any living entity? How can a herd of six hundred Dutch belted cattle, or a domesticated olive tree, logically be excluded from an ethical system designed to protect an interconnected earth? No place on earth has escaped, or can escape, the effects of human beings, and no place ought to be beyond the scope of environmental ethics. Taylor indicates that the goals of machines are derivative while the goals of living entities are original. Perhaps Taylor might use this definition to justify the exclusion of domestic animals if they are

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viewed as mere derivatives of human purposes. “The ends and purposes of machines are built into them by their human creators” (P. Taylor, Respect 124). Taylor might argue that, just as machines are not teleological entities in their own right, animals bred specifically for human entertainment, companionship, food, research, or furs are also not teleological entities in their own right. They are like machines— living only for someone else’s purposes. For Taylor, like computers and pickups, European rabbits bred for food and mixed kittens raised for scientific research have a derivative purpose. Unfortunately for Taylor, what is true of thoroughbred racehorses, purebred dachshunds, and miniature goats is also true of human children. Can Taylor demonstrate that human beings have children for the sake of the child? Down through history people have borne children to work the farm and tend their aging parents. Children have been sold into slavery, wedded to the rich and powerful for wealth and/or beneficial alliances, and traded off against land and other material goods. Today people continue to have children for selfish reasons such as the hope of gaining some semblance of security in their older years, believing there is something special about themselves that they wish to pass on to another human being, and the hope of finding meaning and purpose in life. Not many people have children for the sake of the child—how can we when people have no idea what their child’s life will be like? Human offspring, like lab rats and hogs, are brought into the world by the designs of others. Their lives—if they are wanted—are part of a larger web woven by those who produce them. At least since the time of Descartes, many people have excluded domestic anymals—if not all anymals—from moral consideration simply because they were not considered ends in themselves: Domestic animals are the creations of man. . . . There is thus something profoundly incoherent (and insensitive as well) in the complaint of some animal liberationists that the “natural behavior” of chickens and bobby [veal] calves is cruelly frustrated on factory farms. It would make almost as much sense to speak of the natural behavior of tables and chairs. (Callicott, “Animal” 330)

Taylor cannot hold this position and maintain theoretical consistency for two reasons. First, Taylor himself asserts that there are fundamental distinctions between machines and biological entities: “The goaloriented operations of machines are not inherent to them as the goal-oriented behavior of organisms is inherent to them” (Respect 124).

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Even those animals that exist because of human breeding, and whose lives human beings have co-opted for a specific “derivative goal,” qualify as teleological life-forms for Taylor, whereas machines do not. Taylor’s definition of the equal inherent worth of all teleological beings does not allow him to exclude domestic anymals and maintain consistency. Second, Taylor encourages captive breeding for reintroducing wild, rare nonhuman animals back into the “natural” world (Respect 196–97). Captive-bred anymals necessarily harm the integrity of any “wild” ecosystem into which they are released; they are not the same as those raised in wild, natural settings. Anymals in captivity cannot be preserved as the same animals they would have been if raised in a natural environment. Captive-bred anymals—no less than domestic “pets,” “laboratory,” or farm” anymals—exist due to human contrivance, to satisfy a specific human goal. Captive-bred beings bring human intervention with them into any ecosystem into which they are released. Taylor’s acceptance of captive-bred anymals into wild ecosystems contradicts his insistence on protecting only “natural” entities—entities whose relations are unaffected by human intervention. Captive breeding is inherently “unnatural” and therefore harms the integrity of wild individuals and species, and some environmentalists object to releasing such critters into the wild. A species, like any other thing with interests, has an interest in maintaining itself as a coherent, integrated, functional ongoing whole with a particular self-identity. This requires more than just survival. It is a matter of what survives. Relating to a particular sort of environment is part of the self-identity of a species—and pressure from the environment helps a species to maintain its self-identity. What does a species profit if it gains survival and loses its soul? (L. Johnson 179–80)

The last quagga, native to southern Africa, died in a zoo in Amsterdam in the 1880s. They were hunted to extinction by flesh-eating humans who did not want to share grazing lands with wild grazers such as the quagga. Could captive breeding programs have returned these beautiful herd mammals to the grasslands? Or is there more to these anymals than their genetic line—a quagga culture? Are we nothing more than a genetic code? Might a zoo quagga gain life at the expense of soul? By accepting wild anymals that have been bred in captivity (to satisfy the human interest in maintaining species), Taylor jeopardizes something of wild anymals as wild anymals. Furthermore,

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by excluding anymals bred and kept in captivity for food or research, Taylor fails to maintain consistency. Taylor also jeopardizes his insistence on protecting “natural,” “wild” teleological entities by requiring restitutive justice. If one is to make restitution in “natural” places, or with “wild” anymals, one simultaneously destroys what is “natural.” For Taylor, entities and land affected by human restitution no longer qualify as “natural” and are excluded from moral consideration. He seems to make an exception for the sake of restitution, but he does not explain why those organisms affected by restitution still qualify as “natural” and are due our respect while a patch of meadow mushrooms, fostered for harvest, does not. Taylor’s Respect for Nature is inconsistent because he includes all entities affected by restitutive justice, as well as wild anymals that have been captive bred, yet rejects other teleological entities simply because they have been affected by human intervention. b. Diet Taylor seems to lack information, or to be uncertain of the facts, and he also seems inconsistent with regard to flesh consumption. He asserts that a vegetarian diet is no better than a meat diet because “plants, just like animals, are our equals in inherent worth,” and plants are wronged just as surely as anymals when we cut off their existence prematurely for consumption (P. Taylor, Respect 295). In light of this, Taylor asks, “[W]hy should eating plants be ethically more desirable than eating animals?” (Respect 293). He concludes, if animals do not suffer in the process, there is no ethical reason to prefer to eat plants over consuming anymals. However, Taylor acknowledges that the Western flesh industry requires farming much more land than a vegetarian diet requires and therefore entails more harm to the environment. He wisely concludes that “anyone who has respect for nature will be on the side of vegetarianism” (Respect 257). But contradicting himself again, he also asserts that it would require more farmland to produce enough vegetables for a completely vegetarian population (Respect 257). (He bases this latter assertion on increased need for vegetables for a vegetarian population.) As it turns out, a vegetarian diet requires less land. In his discussion of distributive justice Taylor admits that the suffering of anymals is of moral concern. This is true on several levels. The flesh industry in the Western world entails extreme suffering for billions of sentient individuals, as well as severe environmental

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degradation (Singer, Animal 95–157). Furthermore, the flesh industry contributes to some of our most frightening environmental problems, such as the greenhouse effect (caused in part by the release of methane from “livestock”) and turning rain forests into pasturelands (Ryder, “Painism” 209). Cattle, pig, poultry, and sheep industries contribute significantly to water shortages, habitat loss, consumption of and pollution related to petroleum and chemical fertilizers, and contamination of water supplies through anymal waste (Gaechter 1–5). Tons of crops are raised to feed these billions of farmed anymals—forcing more land under cultivation. When people “eat animal products, they receive only one percent of the total energy available from the same amount of vegetation originally eaten by the animals” (Gaechter 1). Vegetarians can “subsist on about half of the grain we now feed ‘livestock’ ” (Sterba 203). This means that half of the lands now farmed could be returned to the wild if we quit swamping our earth with farmed anymals by breeding cattle, pigs, and poultry; if we were a vegetarian nation we could stop destroying habitat to create more farmlands. Aside from the moral concerns of anymal suffering and environmental degradation, Taylor’s own theory forces him to stand against eating flesh. His principle of minimum wrong, and his focus on individuals, indicates that numbers count. Taylor instructs people to choose to harm as few beings as possible: [T]he principle of minimum wrong presupposes that each living thing deserves moral consideration. Since each has inherent worth, a prima facie wrong is done when any one of them is harmed. It is true that a greater wrong is done when a whole species-population or biotic community is harmed. This is not because the group as such has a greater claim-to-be-respected than the individual, but because harming the group necessarily involves harming many individuals. (Respect 286)

Basic mathematics indicates that Taylor ought to advocate for a plant-based diet. Choosing to eat lower on the food chain minimizes harm to individual life-forms because anymals eat plants before we eat them. To eat an anymal that has been fed by tons of plants is to multiply harm exponentially. Yet Taylor assumes “the necessity of humans to consume non-humans as food” (Respect 293). He qualifies this assumption, writing that it may be possible for most people to eat plants rather than anymals. He reaffirms that “there are situations where subsistence hunting and fishing are necessary for human survival” (Respect 293). Taylor admits that our use of anymals for food—

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under any conditions—constitutes a violation of our “prima facie duty” because we use them as a “mere means to our ends” (Respect 294). Regrettably, Taylor indicates, this is sometimes necessary. He points to the hunting of whales and seals in the Arctic and the hunting of wild goats and sheep in mountainous regions. “In these cases,” Taylor concludes (with no further information provided) “it is impossible to raise enough domesticated animals to supply food for a culture’s populace, and geographical conditions preclude dependence on plant life as a source of nutrition” (Respect 293). Taylor supports “culling wild animals for food where environmental conditions make it impossible to raise domestic animals or to grow edible plants for human survival” (Respect 294). He uses Africa as an example, where the wildebeest and water buffalo are hunted down and eaten. Taylor’s stance is problematic in several ways. First, “culling” refers to the “regulation or reduction of animal populations (especially surplus animals)” (Norton, Ethics 330). Taylor’s use of “culling” suggests that certain anymals are superfluous. “Culling” fails to exemplify a belief in the inherent worth of individuals. This term implies expendability, superfluousness, and irrelevance. Though we are the most dangerously overpopulated species on the globe, Taylor does not refer to “surplus” humans, nor would he be likely to do so, as this would show a disregard for individual human beings. Taylor’s word choice reveals a lack of respect for wild teleological entities. Second, eating anymals—even in the situations outlined—is not consistent with Taylor’s own requirements for “minimizing wrong.” Fresh vegetables such as squash grow high in the Himalayas. I have eaten peanut butter sandwiches with Inuits in remote areas of northwest Alaska. I have seen squash waiting to be eaten atop homes at extreme altitudes in Nepal. In the Arctic, and even in high mountainous regions in China, Tibet, and Nepal, people import food staples such as sugar and flour. The Inuit people of northwestern Alaska drink tea from India and nursing milk from cows in Wisconsin. They eat bakery bread, ice cream, and hamburgers with French fries, none of which are locally produced. How can anyone argue that those who import tater tots must eat seals to survive? Hunters—even in the most remote camps in Alaska—wear manufactured clothing, use modern transport and weapons, and import food. Why does not Taylor ask that such people import basic food staples instead of expensive hunting equipment? Places inhabited by grazing anymals necessarily have vegetation.

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How could grazing anymals survive without? In places that sustain wild vegetation, humans can grow at least some vegetables and grains. Because of the environmental damage caused by the flesh industry, because of the damage done to individual wild anymals by hunting, Taylor’s Respect for Nature ought to require that individuals grow and consume vegetables rather than hunt or raise domestic anymals, even in extreme environments. He ought to at least mention that it is morally preferable to import barley and lentils rather than artillery. The vast majority of people who hunt do not need to kill anymals to survive. Under such conditions, hunting fails to reveal respect for nature and instead shows a lack of respect for the individual lives of wild anymals. Places almost surely exist where people can neither import basic staples nor grow or raise food, either due to a lack of finances or a lack of access to such goods, but these societies are significantly fewer than Taylor indicates. It is common to assume that people living more traditional lifestyles must hunt to survive, but in the vast majority of cases “necessity” is misused in this context. Sweeping generalizations about mountainous regions, or the Arctic, are insufficient evidence on which to conclude that hunting wild anymals is morally acceptable for peoples in these locations. Taylor accepts flesh eating among human beings, but his position regarding flesh eating is ill defined and inconsistent. c. Ethical Rules Taylor proposes four ethical rules. Unfortunately, these rules hold rash implications, seem difficult to implement, are inconsistent with other aspects of his work, and appear to be redundant. Taylor’s first two rules, nonmaleficence and noninterference, are sound in principle but hold unsettling implications. Consider Taylor’s explanation of noninterference: This general policy of nonintervention is a matter of disinterested principle. We may want to help certain species-populations because we like them or because they are beneficial to us, but the rule of noninterference requires that we put aside our personal likes and our human interests with reference to how we treat them. Our respect for nature means that we acknowledge the sufficiency of the natural world to sustain its own proper order throughout the whole domain of life. (Respect 177)

Taylor offers examples of natural disasters, where we may wish to interfere, but must not: earthquakes, fires caused by lightning, volcanic

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eruptions, floods, and prolonged droughts. He insists that in every such instance we are “duty-bound not to intervene” because these events “have always taken their toll in the death of many creatures” (Respect 176). Taylor argues that these occurrences are part of what is “natural.” In one sense to have the attitude of respect toward natural ecosystems, toward wild living things, and toward the whole process of evolution is to believe that nothing goes wrong in nature. Even the destruction of an entire biotic community or the extinction of a species is not evidence that something is amiss. If the causes for such events arose within the system of nature itself, nothing improper has happened. (P. Taylor, Respect 177)

Taylor’s application of noninterference allows for dynamics of nature, where “new species evolve, old species become extinct, and surviving species change in abundance or genetic composition” (Lemons 219). The natural world around us constantly changes: varieties of flora and fauna appear and disappear; deserts vanish under the sea and oceans dry up, nature is in a constant state of metamorphoses (E. Johnson, “Animal” 273). We are to accept the fact that glacial lakes may become forests and that species may move on or die out. Preservation of the status quo is neither necessary nor possible. The “long-term viability of ecosystems is not a function of the continued existence of any of its physical or biotic features” (Gunn, “Traditional” 149). In any event, our efforts are pointless: “Although we may save the elephants from extinction in our millennium, in due time they and we shall perish” (Kohak 170). As Taylor indicates, to accept the biocentric outlook is to accept the constant changes of the natural world and to recognize human interference as superfluous and undesirable. Human interference does not allow the full breadth and diversity of the natural process. A wildfire in the wilderness will destroy much, but “disasters” are ecologically important (Birch 328). Knobcone pines are dependent on fires for the release of seeds (Little 271). Draughts strengthen most genetic lines because only the strongest survive. A natural “disaster” is only a disaster to those who favor the status quo over other possibilities. No informed individual would argue that death—even the death of entire species or ecosystems—is not “natural,” or in many ways beneficial. Taylor’s presentation of the rule of noninterference is consistent with his biocentric belief system, but he fails to carry this idea to its

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logical conclusion. Taylor views “human life as an integral part of the natural order of the Earth’s biosphere” (Respect 101). For the sake of consistency, Taylor ought to employ the rule of noninterference on human populations. Earthquakes, floods, and famines must be allowed to take their toll on human life just as surely as they take their toll on all other entities. If Taylor holds that natural selection is best for other populations, he cannot reasonably shelter humans from the same fate. Surprisingly, there are yet more striking implications to Taylor’s assertion. If we are included in the biocentric outlook of interconnected beings, as Taylor asserts, and if we ought to leave anymals to do what they do to one another, including intraspecies violence, as Taylor’s writing suggests, then we must also accept the natural outcome of human violence. Taylor indicates that it is not only ethically acceptable, but morally obligatory to allow gnaphosids, flounders, and the endangered Pakistan sand cat to kill and be killed. For the sake of consistency, he ought also to assert that we are ethically bound to allow humans to exploit and kill one another—or other creatures—as seems natural to our bloodthirsty nature. Such longstanding institutions as slavery and such age-old acts as murder ought to be acknowledged and tolerated as natural human behavior under the rule of noninterference. If humans are inside the interconnected biocentric outlook on equal footing, as Taylor indicates, then we are subject to all the same rules and principles as every other creature. It is difficult to accept the implications of Taylor’s notion of noninterference. To do so not only undermines his environmental ethic, but conflicts with human rights and our most basic notions of morality. Taylor’s rule of fidelity seems superfluous. “What the Rule of Fidelity absolutely forbids is the exploiting of a situation where an animal is deliberately led to be trusting, or is made unaware of any danger, as a way to further the nonmoral interests of humans to the detriment of the animal” (Respect 184). He offers hunting, trapping, and fishing as examples of infidelity because these acts are based on “entrapment and betrayal” (Respect 180). Traps are set in areas where anymals are likely to pass unsuspectingly; lures attract animals, especially fish, to an imagined food source. Hunters habitually sneak up on unsuspecting anymals in their natural habitats with intent to kill. Taylor defines these acts as human-centered and exploitative, as treating anymals merely as means to human ends. All things being equal, nonmaleficence forbids harming an entity that has a good of its own, unless that entity poses a threat (Respect

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172). Are not these actions already forbidden under Taylor’s rule of nonmaleficence? Taylor himself notes that “hunting, trapping, and fishing involve gross violations of the rules of Nonmaleficence and Noninterference” (Respect 183). Taylor’s fourth rule, restitutive justice, as discussed previously, breaches his definition of “natural,” is likely to result in an infinite regress, seems impracticable, fails to comply with his presentation of the biocentric outlook, and seems inherently biased. In any event, the rule of restitutive justice seems as redundant as the rule of fidelity. Restitutive justice applies in cases where one of the previous three rules has been broken. According to Taylor, even if a rule is broken by morally acceptable actions, restitution is due as an acknowledgment of the inherent worth of those entities damaged or destroyed. Taylor recommends that we “further the good” of organisms we have harmed “by making their physical environment more favorable to their continued well-being” (Respect 188). Or, if our activities have resulted in the death of organisms, we might promote or protect “the good of the species-population or life community in question” (P. Taylor, Respect 188), or clean up polluted habitats for remaining individuals (Respect 190). First, how can people possibly enhance the environment for one population without damaging other plants and anymals? Any act of restitution will result in an infinite regress. How can one introduce change in hopes of favoring a certain species (to which one owes restitution), without harming other plants and anymals—a sprouting great hedge nettle, an ever-hopeful black vulture, loitering bacteria, or an unsuspecting geoduck—in the process? Restitution will inevitably result in ever more restitution owed. Second, restitution conflicts with other aspects of Taylor’s theory. Taylor asserts that noninterference can be outweighed by rules of fidelity or restitutive justice provided that “great good is brought about and no creature is permanently harmed by the permitted interference” (P. Taylor, Respect 197). But according to Taylor, a great harm is done any time we interfere in the existence of a “wild” entity because we thereby rob that being of “wild” status. If fidelity and restitutive justice override noninterference, as Taylor indicates, humans are likely to destroy the “wild” status of many more organisms. In Taylor’s own words, it will not matter if we “improve their strength, promote their growth, and increase their chances for a long, healthy life. By destroying their status as wild animals or plants, our inter-

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ference in their lives amounts to an absolute negation of their natural freedom” (P. Taylor, Respect 175). If Taylor is to maintain consistency, restitution must not override noninterference. Taylor acknowledges that encouraging certain populations might complicate environmental problems. For instance, he notes that favoring a certain species might create an overabundance, in which case it would be essential to interfere again in order to remove some of the burgeoning population. Because people are responsible for the initial problem, Taylor asserts that we must act to avoid ongoing, further damage to the entire ecosystem by correcting damage done (P. Taylor, Respect 194). Taylor’s allowance for certain populations also seems contradictory and raises unanswered questions. On what grounds might one who accepts the biocentric outlook interfere with the “natural” population balance? When is a population “natural” such that no human intervention is admissible? Can an organism, or habitat, on which restitution has been done maintain “natural” status? Taylor states that change is the norm, that species come and go, and that extant creatures and the current balance of nature is just one possibility resting between what was and what will be. Given this, how can he assert that there is such a thing as a quantifiable quota for any given population in any one area at a certain time? As Taylor’s theory stands, restitution, by altering “natural” status, moves the very targets of restitution outside the scope of Taylor’s environmental ethic, which is specifically directed toward “natural” teleological entities. Third, restitutive justice seems impossible to implement; if it is implemented, it will be biased. Taylor recommends that harmed individuals be healed as a matter of restitutive justice. This seems reasonable enough if one is able to doctor a wounded entity back to health without destroying its ability to survive in a natural setting. This may be a viable option for a tiny percentage of life on planet earth. For the vast majority of plants and anymals, especially smaller organisms, assistance is impossible. How would one help a sandworm with internal injuries or a millipede with fractured legs? Restitution favors larger mammals; we are only able to act on what we perceive and understand, which excludes billions of smaller (and less-favored) entities. Fourth, it seems unlikely that restitutive justice can be realized by human beings. When human interests come into conflict with “the survival or flourishing of nonconscious beings . . . it is extremely doubtful

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whether such conflicts can in principle admit of rational adjudication” (Regan, “Nature,” 21). Restitutive justice—if it is to be just—requires an uncommon “outside-of-self ” vision. Whereas we have in fact proven to be remarkably selfish, overall, when making decisions that affect other species. Finally, restitutive justice is not essential to Taylor’s theory. Under his moral guidelines, maintaining natural preserves and cleaning up polluted areas (which Taylor lists under acts of restitutive justice) are also an expression of nonmaleficence. Nonmaleficence requires that we avoid harm to creatures that pose no threat, in which case all lands—and life-forms therein—will be inherently protected. 3. Humanocentrism Taylor describes his theory as a “life-centered theory of environmental ethics that gives impartial consideration to every species” (Respect 306). For Taylor, all entities with inherent worth are equally deserving of moral consideration (P. Taylor, Respect 79). Impartiality is an important character trait for Taylor’s Respect for Nature. For environmentalists, an attitude that elevates human interests is the common enemy. Yet Taylor’s work fails to exemplify an egalitarian environmental ethic; he is generous in what he allows humans at the expense of other species. His theory reveals humanocentric tendencies in his discussion of values, in his discussion of basic interests versus nonbasic interests, expansion, elitism, competing claims, rotation, the biocentric outlook, and human rights. a. Valuing Humans above Anymals A worthy test for any environmental theory is how well “environmental values, such as respect for species and lifeless tundra, will be maintained when they come in conflict with the value of human lives and qualities of living” (Stone 110). Such conflicts force us to acknowledge all that we gain by exploiting other entities, and how little we are willing to sacrifice in order to protect the interests of habitat and other species. Our decisions reflect values: “[S]ome nations value whales in the ocean; others, on their plates” (Stone 110). Where does Taylor stand? His work indicates that he accepts loss of life for other entities that he surely would not accept for humans. In place of lost lives he offers “compensation” in the form of habitat or habitat enhancement (cleaning up).

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Taylor attempts to show that anymals do us a favor and that we can return these favors: “Thus we need not bear a burden of eternal guilt because we have used them—and will continue to use them—for our own ends. There is a way to make amends” (Respect 306). Taylor makes no indication that one need cease the activity for which reparation is made—at least not for wild anymals. Protected lands, or a little cleanup, compensate for ongoing exploitation—including deaths—of anymals. Taylor values additional art museums at the expense of the myriad organisms destroyed to construct and maintain these new facilities. He reveals an interest in maintaining a particular quality of life for human beings even though this quality of life will destroy many other teleological entities. He justifies his preference as a human right; we have the right to maintain our integrity as the type of creatures that we are (“Inherent” 27). If we accept new art museums as fundamental to the “types of beings” that we are, and therefore our due as persons, logical extremes will require that we accept recreational vehicles, aerosol, and Styrofoam cups as our human right as the “type of beings” that we are—selfish, exploitative consumers. Taylor inadvertently acknowledges this shortcoming in his theory: Since we are not carrying out perfect fairness, we owe some measures of reparation or compensation to wild creatures as their due. . . . [R]ecognition of wrongs being done to entities possessing inherent worth calls forth the additional obligation to do what we can to make up for these wrongs. In this way the idea of fairness will be preserved. (Respect 292)

Perhaps only the idea of fairness will be preserved in Taylor’s theory. He offers no guidelines as to how we will determine what “kind of a being” the members of each species are; he fails to discuss which behaviors indicate a fundamental part of who we are, and which behaviors will need to be altered—if any—for the sake of the environment. Without these qualifications, Taylor’s environmental ethic might well justify any and all current human endeavors as appropriate for the “type of beings” that we are. b. Basic versus Nonbasic Interests Taylor’s tendency to favor human beings results in inconsistencies in the way he prioritizes basic and nonbasic interests. Taylor defines nonbasic interests as interests that promote the good of an entity, and basic interests as necessary for an organism to maintain

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existence as the type of being that it is. Taylor’s principle of proportionality asserts that it is immoral to sacrifice the basic interests of other entities for the sake of nonbasic human interests. Such actions show a lack of respect for nature and fail to apply ethics in a disinterested manner (Respect 27). Taylor asserts that when there is “a conflict between human values and the good of (harmless) wild animals and plants, greater weight is to be given to basic than to nonbasic interests, no matter what species, human or other, the competing claims arise from” (P. Taylor, Respect 278). He adds that nonbasic human interests that are “intrinsically incompatible with the attitude of respect for nature” are immoral because such interests deny the inherent worth of wild things (Respect 273–75). On four counts Taylor’s theory fails to realize this equality. First, Taylor applies equal weight only to human interests that are incompatible with respect for nature—“illegitimate” nonbasic human interests. Taylor’s examples demonstrate that any human interests (even nonbasic) deemed consistent with respect for nature override the basic interests of other entities. For Taylor, in “a wide range of cases it is proper for humans’ ‘highly valued,’ but nonbasic interests to be given greater moral weight than the basic interests of animals and plants” (French 49). Taylor’s examples therefore fail to comply with his assertion of equal inherent worth of teleological entities, and his assertion that nonbasic interests ought not to override basic interests. Taylor’s list of permissible, environmentally destructive human enterprises includes Building an art museum or library where natural habitat must be destroyed. Constructing an airport, railroad, harbor, or highway involving the serious disturbance of a natural ecosystem. Replacing a native forest with a timber plantation. Damming a free-flowing river for a hydroelectric power project. Landscaping a natural woodland in making a public park. (Respect 276–77)

His list reveals Taylor’s willingness to destroy nonhuman life and vital habitat (infringing on basic interests), for the sake of nonbasic human interests like landscaping a park. Taylor asserts that an attitude of respect for nature is exemplified by one who avoids actions that “deny the inherent worth of wild things” (Respect 273–75). Taylor assumes that human developments as wide ranging as dams and art museums are part and parcel of “a community’s realization of a high level of civilization,” justified by our basic interest in maintaining

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ourselves as the type of beings that we are (Respect 282–83). Such an opinion seems to epitomize a lack of respect for the inherent worth of wild entities. Taylor also offers concessions for the interests of “enlightened” humans: “Enlightened” humans may pursue ends they regard as important to their way of life, so long as there are no “alternative institutions and practices which could be used by the community to accomplish the same social ends but which would involve fewer instances of wrongdoing to wild living things in natural ecosystems” (P. Taylor, Respect 283). The minimum wrong principle merely asks that we minimize the “number of violations of the rule of nonmaleficence,” even if there is no way to minimize harm (Respect 282–83). Therefore one who respects nature might build a highway even though it infringes on the basic interests of millions of wild, teleological organisms: Those who respect nature and intend to minimize wrongs done to wild creatures still choose to pursue ends “whose value is so great to them that they are unwilling to give them up” (Respect 287). Taylor argues that morally legitimate humans, humans who do not pursue nonbasic human interests that are “intrinsically incompatible with the attitude of respect for nature” have a right to fulfill their basic interests because they are rights holders (P. Taylor, Respect 272–75). He specifically mentions our human right to freedom and autonomy. By asserting that the fulfillment of human rights is a basic interest, and by indicating that these exclusive rights permit human beings to perpetuate current behaviors (as the type of animals that we are), Taylor effectively blocks the need for humans to make changes or sacrifices. Instead, he opens the door for a justification of any action that is currently considered “normal” for our species, backed by our exclusive human right to freedom and autonomy. In this respect it seems that Taylor’s theory only requires that humans intend to minimize harm and demonstrate a “respect for nature.” Taylor asserts that ethics ought to override all nonmoral norms, yet his theory supports the status quo and accepts standard norms of the day. He allows human interests in art and history to override protection of the basic interests of other teleological entities. Instead of being egalitarian, Taylor’s theory “provides wide-ranging justification for acts by humans that harm animals, microorganisms, and plants” (French 49). It is unlikely that Taylor would allow these same developments to infringe on the lives and lands of other human entities. Could we bulldoze over an urban community, with

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all the inhabitants in their homes, for the sake of an art museum or park, a timber plantation, or highway? Taylor’s bias belies his own assertion of the equal inherent worth of teleological entities. Western ethics between humans do not allow the protection of nonbasic interests at the expense of basic interests. Suppose an enlightened group of scientists, with a great interest in examining religions and virgin peaks in Nepal, desired to climb Machhapuchhare. Those who live near Machhapuchhare hold this peak to be sacred and object to anyone climbing this mountain. Even such a comparatively minimal infringement on the lives of others is considered immoral by Western standards. For Taylor to allow the destruction of other entities for the purpose of landscaping or for the construction of a museum reveals extreme human bias. The third reason Taylor seems to fall short of the expectations of his own theory is that he fails to make reasonable distinctions between different types of rights, and he fails to prioritize these rights in a manner that preserves the most fundamental rights over those that are less critical. Western ethics do not generally permit one human to fulfill nonbasic interests (such as our interest in freedom and autonomy) to override more fundamental interests (such as our interest in staying alive). For example, religious sacrifices that require human deaths are morally inadmissible, in spite of an accepted and respected right to religious freedom. Contrary to Taylor’s list of permissible enterprises, Western ethics tend to acknowledge that “enlightened” people who respect nature cannot do whatever seems of interest to them. The most basic human interest, preserving one’s life, takes precedence over every other interest. Consistency requires that Taylor, if he is to assert equal inherent worth of all wild teleological entities, extend the same protection offered to human life to all other living entities—or revoke this protection from human beings: We can no more consistently claim that all living beings are equal and yet aggress against the basic needs of some living beings whenever doing so serves our own nonbasic or luxury needs than we can consistently claim that all humans are equal and yet aggress against the basic needs of some humans whenever doing so serves our own nonbasic or luxury needs. (Sterba 199)

As it stands, Taylor’s application of basic and nonbasic interests fails to demonstrate an attitude of equal inherent worth or an impartial

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application of ethical theory. The human right to freedom and autonomy ought not to infringe on the basic interest in survival held by individuals of every other species. For Taylor, even the preservation of culture is more important than the lives of other creatures. If Taylor is to honor his own assertion of inherent worth and interspecies equality, then consistency requires him to extend the protection of basic interests over nonbasic interests to other teleological entities. c. Expansion If Taylor is interested in minimizing harm, a lack of population restrictions seems a glaring oversight in his theory. In the absence of population control, there is no ceiling on the damage that might be done to other species as a result of human expansion. If we actualize zero population growth, no additional buildings, roads, or harbors will be necessary. Taylor’s general acceptance of human encroachment into the habitat of other species, which destroys the livelihoods and lives of myriad organisms, seems inimical to environmental ethics. If Taylor included population restrictions he might be less inclined to offer controversial concessions to human beings at the expense of other entities—and at the expense of philosophical consistency. d. Elitism Taylor does not merely favor human beings, he favors certain human beings, as revealed in his list of immoral “nonbasic” human interests—acts that lack respect for nature: Slaughtering elephants so the ivory of their tusks can be used to carve items for the tourist trade. Killing rhinoceros so that their horns can be used as dagger handles. Picking rare wildflowers, such as orchids and cactuses, for one’s private collection. Capturing tropical birds, for sale as caged pets. Trapping and killing reptiles, such as snakes, crocodiles, alligators, and turtles, for their skins and shells to be used in making expensive shoes, handbags, and other “fashion” products. Hunting and killing rare wild mammals, such as leopards and jaguars, for the luxury fur trade. All hunting and fishing which is done as an enjoyable pastime (whether or not the animals killed are eaten), when such activities are not necessary to meet the basic interests of humans. This includes all sport hunting and recreational fishing. (Respect 274)

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From this list of seven nonbasic interests, only two are conclusively “nonbasic.” This list includes livelihoods that may seem ethically questionable to an environmentalist, but one might argue that they are livelihoods all the same—vital for those so employed. Neither the superfluousness of the final product, nor harm to the environment, negates the importance of the fur or ivory industry to those who earn their bread in these businesses. One may prefer the business of building art museums over and above working in the ivory trade, but Taylor needs to address the problem that both are vital to those employed in such a way. Nonetheless, strictly speaking, neither art museums nor ivory are necessary for human survival, and both could be replaced with more earth- and anymal-friendly occupations. (It would seem both should be replaced if we are to be true to Taylor’s intent.) e. Competing Claims Taylor’s discussion of competing claims indicates that harmful or dangerous species ought to be controlled or eliminated (Respect 257). Not only is a policy of controlling or killing “dangerous” entities environmentally unsound, but it is also impracticable. If we were to control or destroy every entity that poses a threat to our health or survival we would intrude on nature as never before. A multitude of “wild” entities are harmful, including bears, great cats, canines, mosquitoes, bacteria, tobacco, and poison ivy. Is not the essence of an environmental ethic that we live peacefully with other life-forms? Do not environmental ethics illuminate “our obligation of letting beings be,” regardless of which beings we might favor or fear (Zimmerman 127)? Most of the time humans have little choice but to tolerate the myriad entities that share this world. Even when we do have a choice, there is seldom reason to completely eliminate harmful entities. Only with the advent of modern, Western societies has it become commonplace for people to engage in massive campaigns to destroy anymals that threaten, or might threaten, our health and safety. But environmental ethics have long insisted that these new ways are not necessarily preferable—or even acceptable. One observer notes: “I have sat among a dozen Dinka men and women sprawled under one of their raised huts of boughs and thatch, and watched a tiny poisonous snake in the floor above us, weaving its way as confidently as a gecko. The little snake, an insect eater, was accepted; it was not outside the Dinka’s world” (Darling 118). People and “dangerous” anymals have shared space for millions of years.

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Furthermore, human beings must be acknowledged as “dangerous organisms” by Taylor’s definition. Our activities frequently threaten the lives and basic health of moral agents (Respect 265). Perhaps Taylor does not intend to be so impartial as to eliminate all dangerous species. Life as an earthling entails living amidst the many creatures of the earth, some of which can be harmful to us. Taylor asserts that an attitude of respect for nature holds the virtues of benevolence and sympathy. Therefore, if we respect nature, we are obliged to accept the whole—all the innumerable creatures of the biocentric outlook that Taylor acknowledges as “integral” to the whole (P. Taylor, Respect 100), preferably with the grace of the Dinka. f. Rotation Taylor’s theory of respect for nature offers four methods of distributive justice through which we might transform “situations of rivalry and competition into patterns of mutual accommodation and tolerance” when the basic interests of humans and nonhumans are in conflict (Respect 297). The last of these techniques, rotation, reveals Taylor’s humanocentric tendencies through his explanation of “sharing,” and through his examples of what constitutes a basic human interest. Taylor’s application of his method of rotation is weighted heavily toward the interests of humans. He refers to rotation as “taking turns”: “It is only fair,” Taylor writes, “that humans and non-humans take turns at having access to favorable environments and habitats” (Respect 301). Through such time allocations humans and other species benefit from land areas at different times (Respect 301). Taylor offers examples of rotation: • restoring a closed mining site to natural habitat, • vacating an area where scientists have been doing research and collecting specimens, • removing temporary structures completely when they are no longer needed (and restoring a natural setting), • tapping an emergency water supply only in times of drought, or • legislating clamming marshes as off limits during specified periods of time (Respect 302). His examples present two difficulties. First, Taylor’s use of rotation offers humans extensively more than is offered any other species. He refers to rotation as “taking turns,” but human beings exclusively take turns with all other species collectively. Furthermore, the sharing Taylor

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outlines requires that we “share” with other species only when we no longer need the area or resource. If this method of “sharing” were employed among grade-school students, one student would “share” a toy with all other students only when she did not want the toy. At such times she would “share” by letting the other children collectively enjoy the toy that she enjoys exclusively when she so desires. Few would consider this equitable—few would even refer to such a scheme as “sharing.” If each species were allotted the same amount of time Taylor allows humans, his notion of rotation might be legitimately labeled “sharing.” Alternatively, he could allot each individual from every relevant species a certain amount of time. In any case, “sharing” with anymals cannot be construed as Taylor imagines. Sapontzis writes, Equal consideration must (morally) be given to the value of the environment for animals. Insuring that animals receive a fair share of environmental goods would call for a massive change in our attitude toward and interactions with nature. For example, we could (morally) no longer presume that human uses of the land (e.g., for subdivisions or farming) have priority over animal uses of the land (e.g., for their homes and food). (271)

Second, none of Taylor’s examples of human activity conclusively qualify as basic interests, as he indicates. One could make an argument that clamming is a basic interest, or mining, or collecting scientific data, or tapping an emergency water source—but each of these would, in most instances, constitute a nonbasic interest. If eating clam bodies is to be accepted as a basic need, Taylor ought to provide an appropriate scenario to establish this fact. Otherwise this activity does not qualify, and ought to be considered inconsistent with respect for nature by Taylor’s own definition. Similarly, neither mining nor collecting scientific data necessarily fulfill basic interests; both require specific scenarios to qualify. With regard to emergency water sources, one would need to be assured that such a source was not being used to water lawns, wash cars, or for use in the “beef ” industry—which in California alone uses enough water to maintain some twenty-seven million households (Stone 43). Taylor might justify the inclusion of each of these examples as legitimate for the type of animals that we are. However, as noted, if taken to its logical extreme—as is the task of philosophic exploration—one might justify any human activity, including rape and murder, as fundamental for the type of animals that we are. The

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strength of Taylor’s principle of distributive justice is harmed by special concessions he allows human beings. If we are to share with anymals, we must not only acknowledge that anymals have equal claims on the land, but that they often have a more basic claim than we do, and that more basic anymal needs ought to be granted priority over less basic human use. Such an outlook would perhaps put a stop to such nonbasic and invasive developments as urban sprawl. g. The Biocentric Outlook Taylor includes three basic ideas in the biocentric outlook: “the conception of humans as members of the Earth’s Community of Life; the view of nature as a system of interdependence of which we, along with all other living things, are integral parts; and our awareness of the reality of the lives of individual organisms seen as teleological centers of life” (Respect 153). The biocentric outlook offers one of Taylor’s most daring and promising assertions, and is exemplary as a protectionist ideal, but in implementing the biocentric outlook Taylor favors people in ways that thwart his assertions of interdependence and the equality of teleological entities. The first two assertions in Taylor’s biocentric outlook present human beings as members of the “Earth’s Community of Life,” dependent for existence on the “biological system of nature” (P. Taylor, Respect 44). “The biocentric outlook recognizes a natural world where each species (including human beings) is an integral, interdependent element,” and the welfare of each living thing is “determined not only by the physical conditions of its environment but also by its relations to other living things” (P. Taylor, Respect 100). Taylor asserts that people are an equal and dependent part of the biological community, existing on the same terms as each other living organism (P. Taylor, Respect 99), a view perhaps best envisioned from outer space: [W]hat strikes the imagination is the marvelous wholeness of the planet and the globe-spanning activities that connect and sustain its tenants. There is one great envelope of atmospheric gases, the vast body of ocean, the collusive currents of air and water, the broad belts of photosynthesizing vegetation, the complex of plants and micro-organisms that unite in pumping various elements in and out of the atmosphere, all on vast regional and worldwide scales. From space, everything that dominates the attention is unified and interconnected. (Stone 33–34)

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According to Taylor’s description of an interconnected universe, what goes around will eventually come back around. We earthlings are all made of the same organic matter, perpetually recycled in the same finite cup of tea—we are all equal. We cannot gain at the expense of others without eventually suffering loss ourselves. In an interconnected universe, “if there is joy or sorrow to be had, it does not matter who has it” (Sprigge, “Metaphysics” 138). Yet Taylor’s work sometimes reveals an “us-and-them” attitude that belies his biocentric outlook. For instance, Taylor suggests that we “ask ourselves whether the human values being furthered are really worth the extreme cost being imposed on wild creatures” (Respect 290). His comment reveals a hidden assumption that people are somehow outside the biocentric loop so that costs are for other creatures while human beings reap only benefits. Perhaps Taylor would argue that humans are not equal members of the earth’s community because we do make life and death decisions for other entities. But we are not unique in this role (though we are exceptional in the extent to which we affect other life-forms). On a much smaller scale, hunters and grazers of all kinds engage in activities that result in either life or death for living entities. Conversely, some humans, such as those in a coma, are incapable of making any decisions, yet we do not consider them to be less than equal. Each species, and each individual, holds a particular place in the biosphere. Oxygen-producing plants are critical for the continued existence of the planet as we know it, yet no one suggests that plants stand apart or above simply because other creatures depend on their speciesspecific biological activity. Neither moral deliberations, nor our most destructive actions toward other creatures, set us apart from the interconnections of nature. Maybe Taylor is simply being human—we cannot escape our tendency to favor humans because we can only see the world from our own point of view (“In Defense” 239). Perhaps our current ethic represents a “moral backwardness in the treatment of animals” that might best be explained by the “extreme difficulty human beings experience in apprehending animals as they are in themselves, independently of their relations to this or that concern of human beings” (McGinn 95). Maybe we are only able to view the world through human values and experiences—through an anthropocentric lens (Spitler 256). But Taylor indicates that a nonanthropocentric vision is possible—and essential—for one who respects nature. Taylor’s third

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element in his biocentric outlook requires that we have an “awareness of the reality of the lives of individual organisms seen as teleological centers of life,” that we abandon humanocentrism (Respect 153). Herein Taylor asks that we apprehend other beings from the reference point of that other being—from that entity’s shared interest in “survival, health, and well-being” (Respect 124). Taylor’s ethic challenges people to fully appreciate other creatures for what they are: centers of individual existence just as we are the centers of our personal existence. Taylor’s empathic vision asks us to acknowledge anymals as the subject in a world in which we are merely objects. By visualizing the world from their eyes (if they have eyes), we might glimpse “another version, in some respects very different, in others very much the same” as our own existence, and we might be able to respond to other creatures as living centers “with a life-world as real to them . . . as the life-world immediately inhabited by ourselves . . .” (Sprigge, “Metaphysics” 116, 127). In this way we can gain “the most complete realization, cognitively and imaginatively, of what it is to be that particular individual” (Respect 128). Though Thomas Nagel cautions that any attempt to deeply and fully understand another being is destined to fall short (in his noteworthy article, “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?”), he agrees that our imaginations might allow us an insider’s point of view from which to understand the experiences of anymals, and to empathize with them (442). Empathy is a “form of knowledge” that can “supply a cognitive backing for acceptance of certain moral imperatives” (Sprigge, “Metaphysics” 3). Taylor invites us into the senses and minds of other entities so that they might “reveal their value” (Birch 328). Empathy allows us to see that we ought to treat other entities as ends in themselves, that we ought to foster an interest in meaningful encounters with the multitude of fellow earthlings (Linzey, After 12). The change Taylor seeks will happen only when the community, as a whole, has developed feelings towards animals which will simply make it impossible to staff slaughter houses. I question whether there is a psychological compatibility between a full grasp of the fact that an animal is the centre of a phenomenal world as vibrantly real to him or her as yours is to you and a readiness to have him or her slaughtered for your food, still less to do the slaughtering oneself. (Sprigge, “Metaphysics” 126)

Taylor notes that humans have a “deep kinship with all other living things . . . being, like them, integral parts of one great whole that encompasses the natural order of life on our planet” (Respect 154).

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Nature is a vital part of who we are; “human thought is in fact intertwined with nature” (Raglon 38). Our kinship makes it possible for us to envision the world from the eyes of other entities and to see these others as morally considerable (S. Clark, “Animals” 122). Such a viewpoint invites us to rediscover “the sheer mystery of other beings and the worlds they inhabit,” to “let the reality of another being’s life enter the world of our own consciousness” (Linzey, After 130; Respect 128). Though challenging, Taylor’s biocentric vision, which seeks an insider’s empathy for other living beings, is refreshing and progressive. Are biocentric interconnections consistent with empirical evidence? It is possible to argue that, if all things were interconnected, nothing could survive the demise of one species. Dutch Elm disease would wipe out oak and then all other trees and dependent insects and eventually all plants, all living entities (Curtin, “Making” 65). But the demise of an elm tree has not yet culminated in the termination of all life, so perhaps all life is not interconnected after all. Such thinking misrepresents the concept of earthly interconnections. No living entity is directly connected to every other living being in this manner. No earthling directly and immediately affects every other aspect of nature. The process of growth and decay, consumption and birth, the turning of the seasons and the passing of generations, reveals both immediate and more distant biological interconnections. Just because one individual dies, or one species, does not necessarily indicate that the entire system will collapse. One might argue that the demise of a single oak tree forever alters the world, but not that interconnection requires a similar response (death) throughout the biosphere. One might also wonder if the nature of biological interconnections justifies “the need to use other species—even to kill other species— for survival. . . . The interconnectedness of species in our ecosystem seems not so much to explain the inherent worth of all life as to emphasize the way all species can and often do use others as a means and compete for scarce resources” (Lombardi 261). Biological interconnections seem inherently selfish (Spitler 257–60). If so, how can Taylor—or anyone else—create a viable environmental ethic to protect anymals based on the concept of an interdependent earth? The answer seems to be that because interspecies relations are fundamentally exploitative, humans have a moral obligation to protect. “Because we depend on the biosphere for our very lives, we prudently should see to it for our own sake that it continues to function adequately” (L. Johnson 265). When push comes to shove, we

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all “depend on the healthy functioning of the larger, biotic community” (McRipley 13). The earth’s “biosphere is not just a theme park . . . but a very necessary thing for human survival” (Midgley, “A Problem” 63). Recognition of self as part of the larger whole leads one to realize that the welfare of the natural environment is synonymous with one’s own welfare (Reitan 414–15). Selfishness may be unavoidable, but it need not hamper environmental ethics. Interdependence is both reason to respect other entities and reason to accept human exploitation—both of which Taylor admits in his theory. In our present ethic, human behavior towards other living entities is often accepted or rejected based exclusively on human interests. Andrew Linzey notes that “our view of animals is not only anthropocentric, but so very limited as to be gastrocentric” (After 122). Our attitude reveals “a failure in empathy . . . which constitutes an irrational blindness to the fact of the basic sameness of suffering in whatever species of animal it occurs; [it is] an irrationality incompatible with clear thought” and with empathic understanding (Linzey Animal 95). But the world is not merely “resources” available for personal use. Economics have proven a substandard guide of what we ought to do—maybe Taylor underestimates the power of capitalism. When finances serve as our compass, many suffer while only a few profit (Stone 28). This is, in part, because “externalities” (harm to the environment, other people, other nations, and other species) “are not figured into economic equations. For instance, the ‘value’ of noncommercial species, [is] not captured by markets” (Stone 150). What has often remained uncalculated in court were all those features of nature that the market did not put a price on: the non-commercial waterfowl, the spiders and reeds. . . . In fact, even commercially valuable fish and animals might go unaccounted for on the view that until someone had brought them under control, “captured them,” they were no one’s property; and until they had become some owner’s property, there was no one with legal standing to complain about their fate. (Stone 177)

The well-being of human beings is now protected in the United States, in contrast with the well-being of the masses of other species. On balance, the varied creatures of earth suffer while a handful of human beings prosper, while a handful of human beings maintain a limited ethic where other lives can be traded for their personal profit (Nash 213). Land developers in the United States continue to profit personally while black bear, white-tailed deer, crested caracara,

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mountain beaver, rainbow trout, pocket mice, carrion beetles, and the endangered monk seal are harmed. Taylor’s assertion of an empathic vision acknowledges that the “worth of every creature does not lie in whether it is naturally pleasing to human species, whether it is beautiful (to us) or whether it serves or sustains our life and happiness” (Linzey, After 99). Taylor’s biocentric outlook reveals a core moral truth. In the absence of knowledge, understanding, and empathy, humans might easily overlook the suffering of others. If we become accustomed to seeing others mistreated, we sometimes lose empathy—the capacity to know other entities as they are—and with it our willingness to protect their interests (Sprigge, “Metaphysics” 112, 134). Our selfcentered, self-serving approach to other living beings and the land prevents us from knowing the vast multitude of earthlings as anything more than biological facts or economic potential (Linzey, After 11). We fail to see Taylor’s biocentric vision wherein all are part of the community to which we belong (S. Clark, “Animals” 24). Knowing another creature from its own perspective is not the norm, and such vision is not considered academic in Western scholarship. Western scholars have long held that “only economic or scientific arguments should be allowed in public discourse. Appeals to morality, religion and spirituality have no place and are seen as embarrassing or even worse as ‘inappropriate’ ” ( Jamieson, “Moral” 9). The same can be said of employing empathy and intuition for scholarly or philosophical purposes. Taylor accepts at least one aspect of this traditional outlook, denouncing intuition as a method of ethical inquiry, yet advocates empathic, intuitive connections with other beings. Imaginative perception is necessary for apprehending other people as feeling, thinking entities like ourselves. An empathic approach may seem scientifically suspect, but “there are metaphysical truths which are as relevant in reaching [moral] decisions . . . as are any scientific truths” (Sprigge, “Metaphysics” 135). Metaphysics reveals “the layering of reality,” where what we see is only one of many layers, “others being the abstract, possible, perhaps even spiritual” (Mathews 11). Taylor’s intuitive inclinations seem more appropriate than his detached rationality because we are like other living entities in many ways that cannot be observed or measured (Telfer 76–77). Empathy may not offer a quotient that science can weigh on a scale to the nearest tenth, but empathy is critical to morality. Our inability to measure and standardize this quotient should not prevent empathy

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from directing human morality. In order to realize Taylor’s expansive ethic of respect for nature we must move beyond concrete, assumed “truths” based on the apparent (empirical). An “imaginative perception” is essential to ethics with regard to anymals, as it is among people (Ebenreck 5, 12). Though Taylor’s presentation seems humanocentric, the biocentric outlook is sound. We are equal members of an interdependent world; if we only include the narrow standpoint of human reality, we miss the important point that there is “something about animal reality which makes certain human behavior towards it wrong” (Sprigge, “Metaphysics” 103). Similarly, to know people merely by observing behavior or brain processes is to miss that essential something at our core—“something we can never hope to observe” but which we can only come to understand “by way of the empathic imagination. When we do so,” we come to know others in a way that evokes a sense of “moral obligations” (Sprigge, “Metaphysics” 115). Science has tended to move toward more and more objective assessments of anymals. Nagel and other contemporary scholars show the folly of this path: “If the subjective character of experience is fully comprehensible only from one point of view, then any shift to greater objectivity—that is, less attachment to a specific viewpoint— does not take us nearer to the real nature of the phenomenon: it takes us farther away from it” (T. Nagel 444–45). If we are to respect nature, if we are to realize a biocentric outlook, we must move beyond our current, narrow, pragmatic, empirical approach to other entities (Polk 183, 185). h. Human Rights Humanocentrism lies at the root of most of Taylor’s inconsistencies, and his commitment to a particular view of human rights lies at the center of this tendency to favor human beings. Taylor’s exclusive allowance for human rights seems problematic on three counts: In two distinct ways he lacks clarity, and he fails to maintain philosophical consistency. Taylor rejects anymal rights because he believes that his environmental ethic accomplishes everything that rights would accomplish, without the use of this complicated and controversial concept: I hold that, although it is not conceptually confused or logically absurd to ascribe moral rights in an extended sense to animals and plants, there are good reasons for not doing so. Everything which people hope

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Taylor holds with philosophic norms by choosing the simplest, most straightforward theory—ascribing rights complicates a theory (Goodpaster, “On Being” 311). Yet three aspects of Taylor’s rejection of rights for nonhumans weaken his theory. First, he mentions but never explains how human rights that exclude anymals can logically include insane and severely retarded humans. He extols the benefits of maintaining the integrity of the traditional idea of human rights—based on certain mental capacities—and he admits that such a conception excludes certain humans, all plants, and (most likely) anymals (Respect 225). Taylor explicitly rejects modified versions of human rights that would include these other beings. It therefore seems that Taylor must accept the exclusion of certain human beings from bearing moral rights, along with anymals. Second, Taylor asserts that an entity with rights must be a member of a community of moral agents (Respect 246). Domestic anymals seem to qualify as members of our communities and therefore might be protected by the same rights that protect humans: Some non-human animals are members, though not citizens, of our immediate society, and have rights in law to our care and protection. They pay for these rights by the advantages we gain from them, and should certainly in natural justice be paid far more. Some advantages we cannot seek from them without violating their rights as members of our society. (S. Clark, “Rights” 185)

The role and position of domestic anymals raises the possibility that Taylor’s environmental ethic is rightly extended only to “wild” entities, while domestic anymals (and possibly vegetation) are protected by moral rights along with human beings. If domestic anymals and plants are protected by an extended circle of rights that apply to all those living in human societies, such anymals and plants would be protected because they are controlled and manipulated by human beings. The third and most important difficulty with Taylor’s assertion of exclusively human moral rights is his assumption that moral rights for other-than-human entities are superfluous if people accept the biocentric outlook, hold an attitude of respect for nature, and fol-

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low the rules of conduct proper to such an attitude. In contrast, Taylor asserts that human rights are ours “by nature, not by convention” (Respect 241). “[A]ny being who is a person qualifies as a rights-holder just in virtue of her or his personhood,” and these rights are inalienable (Respect 241). Even though Taylor notes that there are “many thoughtful people who believe we have the right to die” (Respect 242), he maintains that rights lie beyond human contrivance and imagination. “A totalitarian power can deny us what we are entitled to, but it cannot take away our entitlement; we still have a legitimate claim to what we are being deprived of ” (Respect 241). If human rights are ours in such a fundamental and enduring sense, why would such a foundational life-protecting essence only belong to one living species, when the core principle of all such rights is the right to life? As noted previously, any distinction between humans and anymals, such as that of being bearers of rights, is difficult to defend. Taylor makes a distinction between entities that have no moral culpability or obligations, and the moral culpability and obligations of moral agents toward such entities. He indicates that moral agents have certain obligations with regard to moral subjects. Some individuals lack moral consciousness and have no duties to fulfill, but “it does not follow that there are none to be fulfilled toward them” (Kushner 153). Human infants and mental incompetents stand with anymals in this category. “Holding of rights is not important, what matters is that we fulfill our duties toward these beings even though they cannot be holders of rights” (Kushner 153). Taylor argues that laws regulating moral obligations (and attitudes and outlooks behind such laws) are sufficient to protect the interests of anymals. Taylor overtly compares human ethics and law with environmental ethics and law. He asserts that • the biocentric outlook is analogous with the human understanding that all other humans are fundamentally like oneself; • the attitude of respect for nature is analogous to the societal attitude of respect for persons; • the basic rules, such as nonmaleficence and noninterference, are analogous with fundamental human laws such as laws against murder. If Taylor is right, given our tendency to be humanocentric, our pervasive attitudes of respect for the lives of persons, and the extensive legal system supporting respect for persons, why do we need human rights?

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Taylor’s position is inconsistent. He insists that rights are not “derived from or . . . equivalent to assertions about duties” because in such a case “the question of whether moral agents respect the rights of others becomes identical with the question of whether they live up to their duties” (“Inherent” 24). Rights, he insists, are more than this. Given Taylor’s direct parallels, how can he logically assert that his environmental ethic can supplant anymal and plant rights, while denying their efficacy as a replacement for human rights? Taylor’s theory demonstrates that respect for nature is not a replacement for moral rights. Taylor begins chapter six: “In this final chapter I consider the moral dilemmas that arise when human rights and values conflict with the good of non-humans” (Respect 256). Can the simple “good” of all other entities compete fairly with the multitude of comprehensive “rights” Taylor protects for human animals? Taylor’s theory demonstrates that it cannot. There is bound to be “tension between claiming that all living beings have equal inherent worth and only granting rights to humans” (Lombardi 257). Indeed, most of the difficulties of internal conflict in Taylor’s theory stem from his tendency to favor human beings, most prominently displayed in his affirmation of human rights and concurrent dismissal of anymal rights. Taylor “cannot bring himself to completely renounce . . . special respect for persons and sometimes speaks of ‘both systems of ethics’—respect for persons and respect for nature—as if he were juggling two independent principles” (Callicott, “Case” 107). Taylor’s acceptance of rights exclusively for Homo sapiens harms the internal consistency and protectionist qualities of his theory. Most flagrantly, Taylor offers an environmental ethic to protect “wild” entities, inclusive of the most civilized and “unnatural” of species (humans), yet excluding billions of domestic “pets,” “laboratory” anymals, and “food” anymals that live severely truncated, deprived, and often painful lives. Taylor’s theory allows masses of teleological entities to live and die as property and profit for exploitative industries that degrade the land with a multitude of chemicals and tons of waste. Yet Taylor protects these industries, rather than the lives of the individuals or the environment, allowing people to maintain their integrity as the type of beings that we are—in this case, greedy, exploitative, and cruel beings. Taylor fails to fulfill his own standards for an ethical system; his humanocentric tendencies prevent him from applying his environmental principles in a disinterested fashion.

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i. Justification Taylor’s work favors humans in ways that sometimes lead to philosophic inconsistencies, and one might suspect that these special human privileges are intended to make his theory more palatable: Taylor guarantees that we human beings . . . can go on living the lives to which we have grown accustomed. He tries to make things come out right—so that we can eat vegetables, build wooden houses, and generally get on with our human projects . . .—by means of an elaborate set of hedges enabling us consumptively to use our fellow entities within the limits of his extremely broad egalitarian theory. (Callicott, “Case” 108)

Taylor offers a theory that is more likely to be considered acceptable by granting people more freedom and power. Though Taylor admits that his theory is difficult to realize, he asserts that respect for nature, based on “equal inherent worth of every living thing,” demonstrates that “biotic egalitarianism . . . does not reduce to absurdity” but can be fruitfully implemented (Respect 306). There is value in presenting a moral theory that is appealing and applicable, one that seems to offer realistic answers to pressing contemporary problems. Yet Taylor’s human leanings prove disastrous, and in any case, one cannot please everyone. At least one of Taylor’s readers concluded that “the clearest and most decisive refutation of the principle of respect for life is that one cannot live according to it, nor is there any indication in nature that we were intended to” (Goodpaster, “On Being” 324). Even with Taylor’s extensive human bias, it is almost certain that many people would be unwilling to adopt Taylor’s theory of Respect for Nature (Spitler 256). Moral theory, including protectionist moral theory, ought not to bend to the preferences of the masses. People have too often treasured the freedom of human expansion, flourishing civilization, and increased profit at the expense of other living entities—even at the expense of less powerful human beings. In the United States, in the mid-eighteenth century, settlers were free to hunt Native Americans for sport and profit; those who brought in the head of a Native American were paid bounty money by the federal government (“Ishi”). In the southern United States slave owners were free to profit economically from slaves, whom they could sell or kill at their whim. Our interest in freedom and personal gain has sometimes had an appalling effect on other individuals—human and nonhuman. Power and freedom

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are much sought, but they are often not worth the price paid (Feinberg, Social 7). Just as moral theory was brought to bear on those who exploited Africans and natives for profit in the United States, sound and consistent moral theory must be brought to bear on those who profit from destroying the natural world or from the lives of anymals. Conclusion Taylor’s theory is both broader than most protectionist theories (including plants) and narrower (excluding anymals that are not “natural” or “wild”). Taylor’s work entails theoretical problems and inconsistencies, such as his tendency to make exceptions in his theory for the sake of human interests. Nonetheless, Taylor’s theory of Respect for Nature offers a fascinating and inspirational protectionist ethic for wildlife, and for the natural world. He offers a much-needed theoretical bridge where environmentalists and protectionists might meet on common ground.

PART THREE

PROTECTIONIST THEOLOGY

CHAPTER FIVE

ANDREW LINZEY: CHRISTIAN PROTECTIONISM

In 1967, in his groundbreaking article, “The Historical Roots of Our Ecological Crisis,” Lynn White blamed Christianity for our growing environmental crisis. “Especially in its Western form,” White wrote, “Christianity is the most anthropocentric religion the world has seen” (1205–06). Since the publication of that article in Science, there has been much speculation as to whether or not Christianity might be at fault. People such as Andrew Linzey would argue that it is not Christianity itself, but how human beings have chosen to interpret and live the Christian religion. Few have disputed the historical importance of religion to the formation of Western “presuppositions” concerning our relationship with the world around us (White 1204). Nor are we likely to argue with White’s assertion that what people do “depends on what they think about themselves in relation to things around them” (1205–06). What does Christianity offer with regard to this relationship? Most Christians in the Western world assume that they have been given “dominion” by God, over the rest of creation, and that we are therefore free to continue breeding dogs and eating flesh. Is this common view scripturally accurate? Does the common Western Christian’s lifestyle adequately reflect divine intent as revealed in the Bible? Andrew Linzey, an Anglican priest and theologian, is the dominant scholar behind a theological justification for protectionism. He notes that “[a]ll Christian traditions . . . contain resources for looking at animals in a positive way,” and that “the battle for animals will not, cannot, be won while major institutions in our society hold antiprogressive views on animals” (Animal Gospel 70, 73). Linzey rejects the traditional Christian view, which holds that God granted people the right to use nature and anymals for their own ends. Linzey’s Generosity Paradigm requires Christians to exhibit self-sacrificing service toward all of creation and asserts that exploitation of anymals violates God’s will, as expressed in the Bible. Andrew Linzey has stirred many Christians to reexamine scripture and reconsider their religious duties with regard to anymals.

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Theology remains a vital and vibrant moral force in the contemporary world. The protectionist movement would benefit greatly from religious support—an alliance that seems natural to many people of faith who stand firmly within the protectionist movement. A. Theology Philosophy and theology have been partners in dialogue for centuries, inspiring new ideas and prompting responses across disciplines. As is the case among philosophers, generations of theologians interpret, test, and reflect on the work of earlier scholars, then offer their personal contribution to the ongoing process of accumulating knowledge. Theology has existed at least since the time of ancient Greece. The use of reason in the discipline of theology stood in direct contrast to popular mythology, perpetuated by the poets of the day. Mythology was, for most commoners, the main source of knowledge about the gods. Theology literally means “the study of God,” or “knowledge of God.” The focus of ancient Greek theology explored the nature of the gods themselves and the deities’ relations with the world, especially the world of human beings. We continue to view theology as rooted in reason and disciplined study and as contrasting with mythology. Theology examines religious scripture, lore, and belief from the standpoint of faith. Such ancient lore is seldom viewed as myth by insiders; “myth” is generally ascribed to the ancient wisdom of “other” peoples. Because faith is involved, there is a strong element of intuition and personal experience involved. Consequently, many have been unwilling to consider theology a science. Theology is critical to modern religious belief and practice. Those who engage in theology most often pursue a greater understanding of their own religion, and they are motivated by, and overtly seek, an insider’s view of their particular faith. Theology has therefore most often been an internal dialogue among those of a particular faith. Increasingly, theologians have reached across religious traditions to dialogue about matters of common interest and concern. Theology differs from most other scholarly disciplines in that the core subject, the divine, cannot be apprehended through empirical investigation. Perhaps, at least in part because the taproot springs from faith, theology has established rigorous methods of reasoning

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about God. Authorities examining religious works employ reason, scripture, tradition, and (more recently), experience. Theology can be viewed as a science because it employs systematic intellectual procedures, rooted in reason, and because all sciences—all human endeavors—are tainted by the human hand, mind, and heart. Theology has not only become more rigorous but much more sophisticated since the days of the ancient Greeks. There are various areas of specialty within theology. The most general and comprehensive is systematic theology, the “ordered exposition of the beliefs of a religious faith as a whole” (Macquarrie). There are also branches of theology, such as pastoral theology and, most important for the purpose of this book, moral theology. Moral theology brings faith, scripture, and traditions to bear on specific moral issues. Because ethics cannot be removed from a specific context, moral theology is interdisciplinary, involving such matters as politics, economics, and social activism. In the sixties and seventies, a Catholic priest from Peru Gustavo Gutierrez, claimed that Christians have a “compelling obligation to fashion an entirely different social order” (Gutierrez 301). Gutierrez is most often considered the father of liberation theology, a branch of moral theology that is also a political and social movement that emphasizes themes from the Bible that reveal God as the champion of the poor, powerless, and oppressed. Gutierrez recognized the liberating message of Christianity for the poor people of South America. With his support and encouragement, the poor and oppressed looked to their “faith to help them, directly, free their people from poverty” (Carmody 154). Liberation theology reminded Christians that the plight of the downtrodden is not morally neutral, that Christianity ought to be a “response to God” that turns people into “Christian activists committed to uprooting regimes of injustice and replacing them with regimes that give the needs of the poor priority over the wishes, often the luxuries, of the wealthy” (Carmody 156). In this struggle many Christian activists must accept a life of poverty, joining those who are poor by birth or by chance. Choosing poverty is an act of love and liberation. It has a redemptive value. If the ultimate cause of human exploitation and alienation is selfishness, the deepest reason for voluntary poverty is love of neighbor. Christian poverty has meaning only as a commitment of solidarity with the poor, with those who suffer misery and injustice. . . . It is not a question of idealizing poverty, but rather of taking it on as it is—an evil—to protest

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chapter five against it and to struggle to abolish it. . . . [Y]ou cannot really be with the poor unless you are struggling against poverty. Because of this solidarity—which manifests itself in specific action, a style of life, a break with one’s social class—one can also help the poor and exploited to become aware of their exploitation and seek liberation from it. Christian poverty, an expression of love, is solidarity with the poor and is a protest against poverty. . . . This is the concrete, contemporary meaning of the witness of poverty. It is a poverty lived not for its own sake, but rather as an authentic imitation of Christ; it is a poverty which means taking on the sinful human condition to liberate humankind from sin and all its consequences. (“Gustavo”)

Liberation theologists boldly denounced those who hoarded their wealth and enjoyed luxuries while others were hungry or cold for want of food and shelter. At least part of the Christian church stood firmly in opposition to those who benefited from the exploitation of the powerless. Social movements rooted in faith, enacted with conviction, are anathema to those in power. Liberation theology exemplifies just how costly and dangerous faith can be; many priests who criticized the wealthy and advocated for the poor, who spoke out against the South American establishment on behalf of the powerless, have been assassinated. But in the words of Gutierrez, “How could one claim to be a Christian if one did not commit oneself to remedying the situation?” (301) Liberation theology was pioneered in South America but has had much wider ramifications. Theologians and church officials around the world began to apply the social gospel, best exemplified by Christ, aiding the downtrodden. Liberation theology, which began with the poor and oppressed social classes of South America, has had farreaching implications. In a similar fashion to Gutierrez, Martin Luther King offered a theological critique of racism. As a preacher he “challenged white Christians to be true” to scripture and church creed, asserting that “God created all people as one human family, brothers and sisters to one another” (Cone 295–96). King referred to the enslavement of one race by another as sin. “He made it impossible for people of good will to swallow the lie that they could in good conscience call on God while hating other human beings because their skin was a different color” (Carmody 158). King used theology to “prick the conscience of both white and black Christians and thereby enlist them into a mass movement against racism in the churches and the society. He made racism the chief moral dilemma,

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one which neither whites nor blacks could ignore and also retain their Christian identity” (Cone 295–96). Social movements that align with religions enhance their chances of success. King reached his first audience from the pulpit. His ideas resonated with his audience because they were rooted in spiritual teachings that the vast majority of those present held in common. Religious convictions run deep and are often important to people in ways secular morality is not. Morality, backed by religion, can be a force to contend with. King’s message of equality before God and Christian love was not lost on the Christian congregation he stood before. Similarly, church leaders stir Americans on issues such as abortion and gay rights based on church teachings and scripture. Gutierrez and King reminded the Christian church of its own teachings and insisted that those teachings be enacted in daily life. Without a theological framework, neither Gutierrez nor King would have had a legitimate means by which to examine scripture and call the church to task. Theology provided what each of these Christians needed to spearhead social movements against oppression. Similarly, theologians have questioned the subordination of women in Christian churches in light of the liberating message of equality attributed to Jesus. More recently, the theologian Andrew Linzey has examined scripture to find a protectionist message that challenges ongoing Christian indifference to the exploitation and suffering of anymals. B. Christianity and Protectionism across Time In the fourth century, Father Basil of Caesarea insisted “that animals live not for us alone, but for themselves and for God” (Sorabji 199). Christian protectionism was present in both early and medieval ideals, where gentler human relations with anymals were supported by biblical interpretation (Hughes 313). In a book called Scripture Animals: A Natural History of the Living Creatures Named in the Bible, published in 1834, the Rev. Jonathan Fisher acknowledges that he has so carefully compiled information on anymals in the Bible to lead young readers “into a more intimate acquaintance with the works of God, and through his works to a knowledge of some part of his character” (338). There has always been a protectionist voice among Christians, though oftentimes a small and quiet minority. Today,

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with theologians such as Andrew Linzey, Christian protectionism is perhaps stronger and more visible than ever. Christian saints have modeled protectionism for centuries. Some saints have been famous specifically for their protectionist beliefs, such as St. Francis of Assisi. Hagiographies reveal that those believed to be closest to God, saints, are also close to God’s many nonhuman creatures. Many rejected the classic separation between humans and nature (Polk 185). Christianity has a long “tradition of individual saints returning to paradisal relations with the animals, communing with them and curing them” (Sorabji 203). Hagiographies testify to a host of “courageous Christians: saints and seers, theologians and poets, mystics and writers who have championed the cause of animals. The list must include almost two-thirds of those canonized saints East and West, not only St. Francis but also St. Martin, Richard of Chichester, Chrysostom, Isaac the Syrian, Bonaventure, and countless others” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 27). Benevolence toward all living creatures was commonplace for venerated Christians. Hagiographies demonstrate that saints, known for their proximity to God and the Christian ideal, tended to be compassionate and tender toward anymals. St. Francis of Assisi is probably the most famous protectionist saint. He envisaged God as present in all creatures (Hughes 15). Lynn White praised St. Francis for encouraging Christian humility—for proposing the idea of “the equality of all creatures”; “Francis tried to depose man from his monarch over creation and set up a democracy of all God’s creatures” (1206–07). He “asked for captive animals, and cared for or released them. If wild animals were given to him, he treated them gently and let them go. Often they sensed his friendship so strongly that they stayed near him instead of fleeing” (Hughes 317). St. Francis “saw God expressed in the morphological variety of creation; he valued every species and was drawn into wonder and prayer by individual creatures” (Hughes 316). He insisted that his followers exemplify compassion for anymals, and it was his deepest hope that kindness might flow from all people toward the great expanse of the created world. Special relationships between saints and anymals are repeatedly mentioned in hagiographies. Sometimes nonhuman animals assisted saints, such as the wild ass that helped Abbot Helenus. At other times saints assisted anymals—especially against the cruelties of humans—as when St. Godric harbored a hunted stag. Hagiographies

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sometimes credit anymals with having a special spiritual understanding that humans lack, as in the story of St. Columba’s white horse (Waddell). St. Kieran of Saighir “lived with a wild boar, a fox, a badger, a wolf and a deer” (Vischer 26). St. Jerome, St. Guthlac of Croyland, and St. Godric lived with wild anymals that protected them; anymals were their closest companions. Such notable Christians demonstrate “a reversal of the relationship of fear and enmity between humans and animals that appertains after the Fall and the Flood” (Linzey, After 100). They demonstrate a firm belief that Descartes was wrong: “Cogito ergo sum: ‘I think, therefore I am’? Nonsense. Amo ergo sum: ‘I love, therefore I am’” (Coffin 11). For many saints—those believed to be closest to God— the fragile nature of anymals and their complete subjugation to the ever-growing power of human beings require Christian charity and Christlike protective tenderness (Polk 185). What we can learn from “countless saintly examples is that to have a relationship with God the Creator can also mean having as a consequence trusting friendships with God’s other creatures” (Linzey, After 101). This connection between spiritual leaders and anymals runs through the divine. “If animals are spiritual beings—in the sense of being creatures with their own relationship to the Creator—then it must follow that in our encounter with them we apprehend—to some degree—the Creator or at least the workings of the Creator” (Linzey, After 58). The influential monk Thomas a Kempis wrote, “If your heart were right, then every creature would be a mirror of life and a book of holy doctrine. There is no creature so small and mean that it does not put forth the goodness of God” (69). Unlike most of us, saints often see creation as a “reflection of God’s mysterious love” an understanding of which allows one to “come closer to the Creator” (Linzey, After 71). One of the greatest Catholic mystics, St. John of the Cross, noted that anymals “are all clothed with marvelous natural beauty, derived from and communicated by that infinite supernatural beauty of the image of God” (Linzey, After 79). Historically, however, the weight of the Christian church has been antiprotectionist. Animals have most often been viewed as anti-God, chattel, slaves to our needs, and offerings for sacrifices. Some are unclean; all are irrational and bereft of souls (Linzey, After 3–11). The only noteworthy objection early Christian thinkers raised against cruelty to animals was the fear that such behavior might lead to cruelty toward other humans (Schochet 274). Christians continue to

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be “largely or wholly instrumentalist in their understanding of animals” (Linzey, After 10–11). A brief history of Western philosophy and theology provides a context for contemporary Christian attitudes toward anymals, and for Linzey’s work. Ancient Greeks pondered the nature of life, the unique qualities of the human being, and how people ought to behave with regard to anymals. Hesiod as early as the eighth century BCE discussed human moral and religious responsibilities toward anymals (Sorabji 7). In the middle of the sixth century BCE, Pythagoras founded a religious order that abstained from eating meat (Marshall 69); Pythagoras taught that the soul is immortal, reborn in the form of various species, making us all akin and rendering flesh eating repulsive (R. Allen 6). Around 400 BCE Democritus suggested that animals are morally responsible and therefore ought to receive just punishment (Sorabji 107). About the same time, Diogenes, that most famous cynic, “professed brotherhood with all beings, including animals. He abstained from flesh eating, declaring: ‘We might as well eat the flesh of men as the flesh of other animals’” (Marshall 76). Diogenes even argued that anymals were superior to humans, as did Plutarch in his whimsical essay, “Beasts Are Rational” (Sorabji 161). Two thousand years ago, Greek philosophers were teaching that “kindness and benevolence” ought to extend “to the creatures of every species” (Marshall 78). Plutarch, a Greek historian and biographer, as well as a philosopher and spiritual guide, was one of the first Greek scholars to write about the moral interests of anymals independent from any belief in transmigration of souls (self-interest). It was the unnecessary suffering and death that caught Plutarch’s moral attention in “On the Eating of Flesh.” “Are you not ashamed to mingle domestic crops with blood and gore? You call serpents and panthers and lions savage, but you yourselves, by your own foul slaughters, leave them no room to outdo you in cruelty; for their slaughter is their living, yours is a mere appetizer” (I. 994). Plutarch accepted those things necessary for human survival, but neither depriving nor killing animals were included. No, for the sake of a little flesh we deprive them of sun, of light, of the duration of life to which they are entitled by birth and being . . . [we imagine] that they do not, begging for mercy, entreating, seeking justice, each one of them say, “I do not ask to be spared in case of necessity; only spare me your arrogance! Kill me to eat, but not to please your palate!” (Plutarch On I. 994)

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Plutarch admits that it is not “easy to extract the hook of flesheating, entangled as it is and embedded in the love of pleasure” (On II. 996). Though difficult to change, the habit of killing for the love of pleasure was, in Plutarch’s writing, neither natural to human beings nor necessary. “[I]t is not for nourishment or need or necessity, but out of satiety and insolence and luxury that they have turned this lawless custom into a pleasure. . . . We shall eat flesh, but from hunger, not as a luxury” (On II. 996–7). Plutarch challenged those who declared meat eating to be natural that they should kill an anymal without weapons, then “Fall upon it and eat it still living, as animals do” (I, 995). Plutarch finds the whole matter of eating other creatures loathsome: I rather wonder both by what accident and in what state of soul or mind the first man who did so touched his mouth to gore and brought his lips to the flesh of a dead creature, he who set forth tables of dead, stale bodies and ventured to call food and nourishment the parts that had a little before bellowed and cried, moved and lived. How could his eyes endure the slaughter when throats were slit and hides flayed and limbs torn from limb? How could his nose endure the stench? How was it that the pollution did not turn away his taste, which made contact with the sores of others and sucked juices and serums from mortal wounds? (On I. 993)

Porphyry, slightly later than Plutarch (232–309), may have been the first to build an argument based on pain and terror in his argument that anymals ought to be handled “differently from plants” (Sorabji 184). Porphyry focused on justice and anymals: [T]hough all wolves and vultures should praise the eating of flesh, we should not admit that they spoke justly, as long as man is by nature innoxious and ought to abstain from procuring pleasure for himself by injuring others. We shall pass on, therefore, to the discussion of justice; and since our opponents say that this ought only to be extended to those of similar species, and on this account deny that irrational animals can be injured by men, let us exhibit the true, and at the same time Pythagoric opinion, and demonstrate that every soul which participates of sense and memory is rational. For this being demonstrated, we may extend, as our opponents will also admit, justice to every animal. (Porphyry 93–94)

While there were a few enlightened people, such as Porphyry, who recognized that reasoning powers between human beings and anymals were a matter of degree, a difference “not in essence, but in the more and the less” (Porphyry 101), in ancient Greece, as now,

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arguments against protectionism revolved around the distinct nature of humankind (Sorabji 1). The tendency to credit only human beings with various qualities that humans value, such as reason, began centuries ago. Most ancient Greek thinkers assumed that only human beings had “reason (logos), reasoning (logismos), thought (dianoia), intellect (nous), and belief (doxa)” (Sorabji 14). Stoics provide perhaps the first written account where reason is critical to moral responsibility (Sorabji 112). The Stoics denied justice to anymals on the grounds that they stand outside the human community, and because rationality was considered a prerequisite for joining the community. Anymals were not credited with rationality, and justice could only be exacted within the community (Sorabji 124). Aristotle viewed nature as a hierarchy where creatures with less reasoning ability exist for the sake of those with more reason (Aristotle, Nicomachean 1:7, 8:12). As a result, he believed that those incapable of moral deliberation had less responsibility and fewer privileges (S. Clark, “Rights” 184). For Aristotle, a more rational mind was part of a more complete and perfect individual, and the more complete and perfect individual was intended to rule over those less complete and perfect. “The relation of ruler and ruled is one of those things which are not only necessary, but beneficial; and there are species in which a distinction is already marked, immediately at birth, between those of its members who are intended for being ruled and those who are intended to rule” (Aristotle, Politics I.5, 1254a17). So the less perfect exist for the more perfect in Aristotle’s view, and reason makes one more perfect. The soul rules the body with the authority of a master: reason rules the appetite with the authority of a statesman or a monarch. In this sphere it is clearly natural and beneficial to the body that it should be ruled by the soul, and again it is natural and beneficial to the affective part of the soul that it should be ruled by the reason and the rational part; whereas the equality of the two elements, or their reverse relation, is always detrimental. The same principle is true of the relation of man to other animals. Tame animals have a better nature than wild, and it is better for all such animals that they should be ruled by man because they then get the benefit of preservation. Again, the relation of male to female is naturally that of the superior to the inferior, of the ruling to the ruled . . . (Aristotle, Politics I.5, 1254b2)

And in Aristotle’s view, nature intended this order in the universe:

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Plants exist for the benefit of animals, and some animals exist for the benefit of others. Those which are domesticated, serve human beings for use as well as for food; wild animals, too, in most cases if not in all, serve to furnish us not only with food, but also with other kinds of assistance, such as the provision of clothing and similar aids to life. Accordingly, if nature makes nothing purposeless or in vain, all animals must have been made by nature for the sake of men (Aristotle, Politics I.8, 1256b15).

Aristotle lived his philosophy, exploiting anymals for his purposes. He kept a large museum of “specimens” that were “drawn, dissected, described, and classified” (Thomson 20–21). Other philosophers commented that “it is not at all obvious why it should be supposed that animals exist for us, and for us not merely to admire, but to kill (Sorabji 200). Platonists Celsus and Porphyry noted that flies are not of any use to us, whereas human beings might be of considerable use to crocodiles (Sorabji 200). In spite of this worthy voice of dissent, a strong vein of Greek tradition, a tradition that was soon to become so much a part of Christianity, envisioned nature as one great resource for human exploitation. Contemporary Western society inherited this “general philosophic indifference toward the natural environment” and toward anymals (Soupios 13). Although the viewpoints of ancient Greek philosophers were many and varied, though they developed through a “wide-ranging and vigorous” debate, “Western Christianity concentrated on one half, the anti-animal half, of the much more evenly balanced ancient debate. . . . [T]this accounts for the relative complacency of our Western Christian tradition about the killing of animals (Sorabji 2–3). Greek thinking has been very important to Christianity through early Christian scholars critical to the formation of contemporary Christianity. For instance, the influence of the late-fourth-century Christian theologian, Augustine of Hippo, remains strong to this day; his writing reveals considerable Stoic influence. Augustine wrote that anymals are irrational and it is by just ordinance of God that the lives and deaths of anymals are subordinated to human use. When we say “Thou shalt not kill,” Augustine notes, “we do not understand this of the plants, since they have no sensation, nor of the irrational animals that fly, swim, walk, or creep, since they are dissociated from us by their want of reason, and are therefore by the just appointment of the Creator subjected to us to kill or keep alive

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for our own uses” (Augustine I. 20). Through Augustine, Stoic belief in the importance of human reason as a prerequisite for receiving justice “became irrevocably embedded in the Christian tradition” (Sorabji 198). Augustine was not the only Christian scholar to accept Greek philosophy or to place the thoughts of these ancient thinkers in a Christian context and back these secular ideas with the weight of divine intent. Like Augustine, Aquinas has maintained tremendous influence over Christianity right up to present times; most contemporary church doctrines contain his teachings. In the thirteenth century Thomas Aquinas revisited Augustine’s point concerning anymals, inserting ancient Greek philosophy into Christian theology. Drawing heavily on Greek philosophy, Aquinas claimed that anymals were put on earth by God for human purposes (Linzey, After 6). The following quote is overtly rooted in the works of Aristotle (here referred to as “the Philosopher”), endowed with a theological basis by the hand of Aquinas. There is no sin in using a thing for the purpose for which it is. Now the order of things is such that the imperfect are for the perfect, even as in the process of generation nature proceeds from imperfection to perfection. Hence it is that just as in the generation of a man there is first a living thing, then an animal, and lastly a man, so too things, like the plants, which merely have life, are all alike for animals, and all animals are for man. Wherefore it is not unlawful if man use plants for the good of animals, and animals for the good of man, as the Philosopher states. Now the most necessary use would seem to consist in the fact that animals use plants and men use animals, for food, and this cannot be done unless these be deprived of life: wherefore it is lawful both to take life from plants for the use of animals, and from animals for the use of men. In fact this is in keeping with the commandment of God himself. (Aquinas II, II Q64, art. 1)

Aquinas sums up his point of view: Anymals “are naturally enslaved and accommodated to the uses of others” (Aquinas II, II Q64, art. 1). Linzey sums up Aquinas’ point of view regarding anymals: “[A]nimals have no reason and no rights, and humans no responsibility to them” (Linzey, Animal Theology 15). Aquinas, again citing Aristotle, alienates humans from anymals by asserting that only humans have both a spiritual and a corporeal element (Aquinas I, Q. 75, A. 3). From this he concludes that the souls of anymals are not immortal; human beings alone possess immortal souls.

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Aquinas taught that animals have no moral status except through human interest—as human property (Linzey, Animal Theology 13). Aquinas writes, “He that kills another’s ox, sins, not through killing the ox, but through injuring another man in his property. Wherefore this is not a species of the sin of murder but of the sin of theft or robbery” (Aquinas II, II Q64, art. 1). Given the importance of Aquinas in the Christian tradition, it is not surprising that current laws tend to reflect his teachings: Anymals continue to be viewed as mere objects—property—a point of view that has only recently been challenged. In summary, based on the works of Aristotle, Aquinas asserted: • unlike human beings, anymals lack rationality; • anymals are intended for human use. Aquinas added the strength of theology to Greek philosophy: • anymals are made for humans by divine providence; • because anymals do not have reason, they lack immortal souls. Aquinas concluded, “Hereby is refuted the error of those who said it is sinful for a man to kill dumb animals: for by divine providence they are intended for man’s use in the natural order. Hence it is no wrong for man to make use of them, either by killing or in any other way whatever” (Regan, Animal 58–59). Interestingly, the argument by which Aristotle linked rationality and immortality has been regarded as fallacious by most philosophers, and his claim that only humans are capable of rationality is equally dubious. Thus, today’s standard Christian belief that only humans have immortal souls is, at least in part, based on the unsound arguments of a non-Christian philosopher. (Singer, “Animals” 227)

Had Aquinas focused on Ecclesiastes 3:18–21, instead of the works of pre-Christian Aristotle, it is likely that he would have reached a very different conclusion. Linzey argues that Aquinas’ Aristotelian point of view is theologically indefensible. All the same, Aquinas’ views held sway, and this exploitative Christian attitude toward anymals reached an apex in Rene Descartes (1596–1650), who concluded that anymals could feel no pain because they have no consciousness, and they have no consciousness because they have no immortal soul, as evidenced by their lack of language (Descartes 116–17). Like many

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Western philosophers before him, Descartes emphasized the importance of rationality and used his reason to carry this idea to new and terrible heights. In his mind irrational anymals, lacking souls, were mere automata, machines of God that could feel nothing— completely “other” by virtue of lacking rationality. Descartes’ ideas placed anymals as yet further distant and below human beings, unworthy of—without need of—even the most rudimentary consideration. Descartes’ radical assertions had dreadful consequences for anymals, especially in the hands of science (Regan, All 5). In a letter to Henry More dated February 5, 1649, Descartes admits that his philosophy was not so much cruel to anymals as indulgent to people, permitting us to use anymals for our ends without moral anguish (Singer, Animal 201). His assumptions, most notably that respect for life revolves around rationality, also bolstered much prejudice among human beings—white men assumed themselves to be the crowning achievement in rational thought, while women and other races were considered inferior (Attfield 17). Descartes’ thinking is in many ways unsatisfactory, both religiously and philosophically. Religiously speaking, rationality has not been a requirement for respect—even veneration. For instance, though Mary (Mother of God in the Christian faith) has never represented reason, intellect, or wisdom, she has been venerated by millions of Christians. Mary continues to have great power and prestige, especially in the Catholic church. In the Christian view, Jesus was born both of the Virgin Mary and of Spirit, and both have been venerated for centuries, Descartes’ views notwithstanding. Descartes’ dualism is equally unsatisfactory from a philosophical point of view because rationality is generally not considered morally relevant with regard to respect for life. If this were not the case, irrational human beings would be expendable. Even though Descartes’ philosophy has been shown to be unsatisfactory, many continue to emphasize the importance of rational thought as a morally relevant distinction between our species and every other species, yet scant few are willing to devalue the lives of irrational human beings. Though broadly recognized as irrational and inconsistent, Descartes’ extreme dualistic teaching continues to justify human dominion and exploitation. In the aftermath of Descartes, theologian and Anglican priest Dr. Humphrey Primatt offered what seems to be the first theological argument for extending justice to anymals. Primatt viewed nature as

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proof of the goodness of God and developed a theological, sentiencebased argument for the protection of other creatures (Linzey, Animal Theology 15–16). In 1776 he wrote A Dissertation on the Duty of Mercy and the Sin of Cruelty to Brute Animals. In this document Primatt notes that not only people are of God, but all of creation: “Love is the great Hinge upon which universal Nature turns. The Creation is a transcript of the divine Goodness; and every leaf in the book of Nature reads us a lecture on the wisdom and benevolence of its great Author. . . . [U]pon this principle, every creature of God is good in its kind; that is, it is such as it ought to be” (Murti). Primatt also notes that there is good reason to be loving and benevolent to other creatures because “[p]ain is pain, whether it is inflicted on man or on beast; and the creature that suffers it, whether man or beast, being sensible of the misery of it whilst it lasts, suffers Evil ” (Murti). Primatt spoke for all living beings, including human beings, and noted that skin color is irrelevant—we are each created exactly as God intended us, whether with dark skin or light, whether a cuckoo or a louse. In his dissertation, he wrote: Now, if amongst men, the differences of their powers of the mind, and of their complexion, stature, and accidents of fortune, do not give any one man a right to abuse or insult any other man on account of these differences; for the same reason, a man can have no natural right to abuse and torment a beast, merely because a beast has not the mental powers of a man. For, such as the man is, he is but as God made him; and the very same is true of the beast. . . . And being such, neither more nor less than God made them, there is no more demerit in a beast being a beast, than there is merit in a man being a man. . . . [T]he author and finisher of our faith, hath commanded us to be merciful, as our Father is also merciful, the obligation upon Christians becomes the stronger; and it is our bounded duty, in an especial manner, and above all other people, to extend the precept of mercy. . . . [A] cruel Christian is a monster of ingratitude, a scandal to his profession and beareth the name of Christ in vain. (Murti)

“We may pretend to what religion we please,” Primatt proclaimed, “but cruelty is atheism. We may boast of Christianity; but cruelty is infidelity. We may trust to our orthodoxy; but cruelty is the worst of heresies” (Murti). Primatt insisted on a Christianity that would “promote peace to every creature on earth,” and “create a spirit of universal benevolence” and “goodwill” (Murti).

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Theologians such as Humphrey Primatt have never dominated Western thought. Although benevolence and compassion toward all creatures has been central in the lives of many exemplary Christians, most of the faithful have ignored this message, and continue to do so. Christians, including important leaders such as Pope Pius IX and reformers such as Calvin and Luther, have generally defended notions of human dominion and endorsed exploitation rather than change their way of life (Linzey, After 7, 10). Although the Western world is now largely a secular world, Christian notions of dominion continue to dominate our interactions with the natural world—whether we profess to be Christian or atheist. Yet a handful of Christian theologians continue to offer a religious understanding that does not admit of exploitation or abuse of anymals. Such is the voice of Andrew Linzey. C. Linzey’s Protectionist Theology Through scripture, Linzey explores creation and the covenant of Genesis 9. He asserts that all creatures are of God, that the deity’s covenant includes all creatures, all beings share in the suffering of life on earth, all entities share unity in Christ, and redemption is shared by all creatures. He presents his findings, and then examines biblical challenges to his thesis, including the practices of anymal sacrifice and eating flesh, and the biblical concept of dominion. Finally, Linzey examines the New Testament, focusing on the life of Christ as a model of exemplary Christian behavior, the fall and salvation, and the support of hierarchy. Linzey also discusses biblical challenges that might stand in the way of a protectionist theology. Ultimately Linzey employs his protectionist theology to present the Generosity Paradigm. Like most theologians, Linzey explores Christianity as an insider to the Christian faith. He is speaking to fellow Christians. He therefore refers to Jesus as “Christ” and the earth as “Creation”; he assumes the validity of the doctrine of the Holy Trinity and accepts the Bible as a moral and spiritual guide. While any one of these assumptions might reasonably be challenged, to do so is to sidestep the issue at hand—protectionism. As one must accept the notion of human rights to work with Regan’s theory, so one must accept the general Christian vision, shared by millions of Westerners, in order

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to explore Linzey’s theory. The intent of this chapter is not to question the generally accepted basics of Christian faith, but to explore Linzey’s Christian protectionist theory. 1. Creation The first chapter of Genesis reports that the elements of creation were made first, then plants, and finally (on the sixth day) animals, including man and woman: And God said, “Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind.” And it was so. God made the wild animals of the earth of every kind, and the cattle of every kind, and everything that creeps upon the ground of every kind. And God saw that it was good. Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness . . .” (Gen. 1:24–26)

a. Shared Origins Linzey reminds readers that Genesis 1 posits “circles of greater or lesser intimacy with God. But what is often overlooked is that animals belong to the innermost circle of intimacy. . . . [L]and animals and humans are created together on the sixth day” (Linzey, Animal Theology 34). “To affirm creation as God’s work is to understand oneself as a creature” (Linzey, After 12). Our shared origins indicate that “we cannot logically claim our own value before the Creator without acknowledging the value of other creatures as well” (Linzey, After 13). Linzey concludes: “[T]he common creatureliness of all creatures” is the strongest message of Genesis 1 (Linzey, After 18). Linzey notes that creation doctrine has moral ramifications: “[A]nimals do not need to justify themselves before God; their existence is their justification. All creatures glorify God, especially the plants and animals, for they are simply blessed in being what they are” (Linzey, After 72). Linzey argues that anymals, because they are created by God, must “have moral worth in themselves” (“Animal” 90). “Concern for animals, for all the aspects of the created world, is essential not because these things are pleasing to us . . . but because they originate with the creator” (Linzey, “Liberation” 512). In 1988 the archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Runcie, spoke up for theological protectionism: The Christian “concept of God forbids the idea of a cheap creation, of a throw-away universe in which

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everything is expendable save human existence. The whole universe is a work of love. The value, the worth of natural things is not found in Man’s view of himself but in the goodness of God who made all things good and precious in his sight” (Linzey, After 13). Linzey notes that animals are created before human beings, and that God proclaims these beings to be “good” in and of themselves. “God makes the animals before man, and pronounces them good without man (Gen. 1.24–25): they are made by God and for God” (Griffiths 8). Linzey finds in creation “the object of God’s sustaining and providential love” (Linzey, After 80). Scriptures indicate that “. . . every creature is a blessed creature or it is no creature at all . . .” (Linzey, Animal Theology 24). According to Linzey, Christians ought to view creation from what we imagine God’s perspective to be, not from our own. All creatures are precious because they originate with God, just like human beings; “all creation proceeds from the creative, generous hand of God. Human or non-human, animate or inanimate, we all share the profound beneficence of God in his creative work” (Linzey, Christianity 8). Thus Linzey makes two primary assertions concerning biblical creation. First, we are next to anymals in the creation hierarchy and therefore must not assume we are radically different, above, or in a separate sphere. Second, because all that exists originated with the creator, Christians are obligated to treat creation with respect. b. Idolatry and Humanism Both idolatry and humanism are inimical to Christian teachings. Linzey warns that a human-centered ideal denies a God-centered faith, and affirms humanism, where people are the measure of all. “The worth of every creature does not lie in whether it is beautiful (to us) or whether it serves or sustains our life and happiness. . . . Only God, and not man, is the measure of all things” (Linzey, “Liberation” 513). Linzey warns that those who hold themselves up as the yardstick against which other beings are to be assessed—which most Christians have done for quite some time—“has led to a practical form of idolatry” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 129). To use such a standard “deifies people by regarding the interests of human beings as the sole, main, or even exclusive concern of God the Creator” (Linzey, After 118). We become idols, centering on ourselves rather than the creator.

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“While it cannot be doubted that humans hold a high place in creation,” it does not follow that people can single-handedly determine how to treat creation based on what we prefer (Linzey, “Animals” 33). Christians cannot justify everything they do simply because they believe it to be in their best interest. “The welfare of humanity has become the dominant ideology of our age. . . . [B]elief in God might require us to modify or qualify the demands made for human welfare” (Linzey, After 121). In the Christian faith, God alone is the measure of all. If Christians “neglect the place and significance of other creatures in God’s good creation, Christian theology fundamentally weakens itself, and its claim to be . . . God centered” (Linzey, After 119). Linzey encourages Christians to see the “Creator’s interest in the rest of creation, the intrinsic value of each creature in God’s sight,” and acknowledge “the justice and mercy of God which extends to all works of creation” (Linzey, After 120). “God has created a world of millions of species that are for the most part utterly otiose and irrelevant to us” (Linzey, After 122). We are not the center of the created universe, according to Linzey, and all things were not created for our purposes. Reject humanism, Linzey advises; put God back at the center. The Jewish and Christian traditions are united in their conviction that the world of living creatures exists because God loves them, and sustains them, and rejoices in them. But if we do not sense this divine rejoicing throughout creation it is perhaps not surprising that we live mean, narrow, self-centered, essentially exploitative lives. The central point is that celebration involves the recognition of worth, of value, outside ourselves. Human beings are not the sum total of all value. (Linzey, After 12)

Contemporary idolatry and humanism demonstrate arrogance and wanton pride in Linzey’s view and are linked with the assumption that human beings are the center and measure of all. Christians, following one line of ancient Greek philosophy most famously expressed by Aristotle, have based morality on this overinflated attitude of human self-importance. Through our “simple-minded humanistic utilitarianism,” we smugly assume that “what is good for us, must be right with God” (Linzey, After 124). Linzey remonstrates that this “spiritually infantile” attitude has allowed us to use “sentient creatures simply as walking ‘spare parts’

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for human beings,” to patent them as “financial returns” on human ingenuity (Linzey, After 125). He rejects what he sees as childish arrogance, and challenges Christians to put God back in the center of their lives. The Bible teaches that the created world faithfully reflects the design of a loving and generous creator—a world that can exist, and can only continue to exist, through God’s attentive care: “The Lord is good to all, and his compassion is over all that he has made” (Ps. 145:9). God’s love is expressed in creation: “God enjoys creatures. God rejoices, as the psalmist says, in ‘the works of his hand’” (Linzey, After 104). Because scriptures tell us that the deity saw “good” in the world, we are called upon to respect what was created, rather than abuse and exploit what God has called “good.” If we treat our world, and all its myriad creatures with loving care, we acknowledge creation as priceless and we express reverence for God’s works. While as a society Christians tend to recognize the moral imperative of respecting human life as a duty to God, we fail to make this connection with all life. “God created all the animals, not just humans . . . one might think that to kill any animal is to destroy God’s property, and thus to ‘play God.’ Just like euthanasia” (Singer, “Animals” 229). Christians ought to remember that creation is not ours, but God’s; “we must never destroy without serious justification and without acknowledging that all life belongs not to us but to God” (Linzey, After 105). c. “Theos-Rights” “[A]nimals are God’s creatures: . . . we have an obligation to the Creator to respect what is created” (Animal Gospel 49). Linzey writes, “God as Creator has rights in his creation” (Christianity 69). Therefore Linzey does not posit “anymal rights,” but rather “theos-rights,” “emphasizing the priority of God’s right in creation. [Linzey] does not posit inherent natural rights independent of God’s sovereignty— quite the reverse. [He] focuses attention upon God’s very gift of creation and his own determination to guarantee what he has given” (Christianity 71). Linzey asserts that theos-rights recognize the “value of a Godgiven life” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 45). “We are justified in claiming rights for them and for ourselves in the context of God’s right to have what he has given honoured and respected” (Christianity 71).

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The motto adopted by People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals takes on new meaning in Linzey’s theological vision: “[A]nimals are not ours to eat, wear, experiment on, or use for entertainment.” According to Linzey, they are not ours to exploit because they are not ours. They are God’s loving bounty, and respect for the creator requires that we treat other-than-human animals in a way that recognizes this theological truth: “[I]f God is sovereign Creator, all rights in an absolute sense are God’s” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 50). Any reference to anymal rights “conceptualizes what is objectively owed the Creator of animals” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 45). If we put God back in the center of our lives, Linzey suggests, we will recognize that “God is the source of rights, and indeed the whole debate about animals is precisely about the rights of the Creator” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 44). For Linzey, anymals do not have rights, because “it is not to the creature that honour is given, but to the Creator” (Christianity 70). Theos-rights held by anymals rest on nothing less than “the will of God who desires that they should so live” (Christianity 75). To distinguish which anymals have theos-rights, Linzey employs the “spiritual continuity between man and beast” (Christianity 78). He focuses on three specific criteria: spirit, flesh, and blood. He refers to Ecclesiastes 3:19–22, which is “unambiguous about the spirit of animals; the issue is not whether humans have something which animals do not, but whether the spirit of either will survive death” (Christianity 78). He also quotes Joel 2:28: “I will pour out my spirit on all flesh” (Christianity 78). Joel links spirit to flesh, and Linzey notes that the divine covenant of Genesis 9 was with “every living creature of all flesh” (Gen: 9:15) (Christianity 79). He then turns to Leviticus 17:11 to connect flesh with blood: “[T]he life of the flesh is in the blood” (Christianity 79). Linzey notes prohibitions against spilling blood and against consuming blood. Flesh, which contains blood, is common to human beings and anymals, both of which also have spirit. Finally, Linzey notes that Jesus became flesh, “entering into a relationship of solidarity with all creatures of flesh and blood” (Christianity 79). Linzey admits that this does not provide a “watertight distinction between the life of humans and animals on the one hand, and the life of vegetables and insects on the other” (Christianity 80). Nonetheless, the criteria of spirit, flesh, and blood certainly make clear a host of anymals that do have theos-rights. These anymals are selected because

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chapter five through his covenant God elects creatures of flesh and blood into a relationship with himself and humanity. God pours out his Spirit upon them. While, therefore, all living things have value to God, the election of Spirit-filled creatures, composed of flesh and blood, gives them what we may call ‘inherent value’ by virtue of their capacity to respond to him. (Linzey, Christianity 80)

Linzey concludes that “the spiritual capacity of animals” gives “them a status beyond that of cabbages and greenfly” (Christianity 81). Linzey highlights particular anymals as having theos-rights because scripture indicates that “God especially values them” (Christianity 83). Recognizing the danger inherent in excluding aspects of creation, Linzey notes that he may now be accused of “mammalocentricity” rather than “anthropocentricity,” and cautions, [W]hile we make a special case for Spirit-filled individuals as bearers of theos-rights, we hold equally that all living beings are subjects of value. . . . [A]ll created life has some claim upon us and that respect for life—including slugs, snails, and earthworms, remains a clear duty. . . . [W]e regard mammalian and bird life as especially valuable as bearers of Spirit-filled life, that in no way detracts from the fundamental value of all other creatures. And what is more, we must always be open to the possibility that we are wrong. (Christianity 85)

Linzey notes that “theos-rights” translates into “worth” for anymals. “All creation, large and small, intelligent and unintelligent, sentient and non-sentient has worth because God values it” (Linzey, Christianity 9) and in the last analysis, whatever is under the whole heaven is God’s. Linzey finds value in every aspect of creation because it was created by “divine generosity”; “To affirm the blessedness of creation is to affirm an independent source of its worth. . . . [A]ll creation has an irreducible value” (Linzey, Christianity 8). What does this mean in practical terms? Linzey asserts that what we owe God through theos-rights is that we “value what God has given” as highly as each of those living beings values their own life (Christianity 87). For each living being its life is infinitely precious— the same is true of a Jamaican black calf being raised for human consumption and a short-tailed chinchilla, now endangered because humans have been wearing chinchilla fur. Each creature finds its own life worthy of protection and preservation, whether a dove or a dromedary. Accepting theos-rights requires that we change how we presently treat these anymals. This will require sacrifice, but is part of our duty as stewards who exemplify “the sacrificial nature

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of lordship as revealed in Christ” (Christianity 87, 96). Theos-rights demand that Christians exercise power only towards God’s end (Christianity 87, 96, 98). In Linzey’s view, we owe it to God to treat creation in ways that demonstrate an understanding of the universe and all that is in it as God’s, and not our own. “When we speak of animal rights we conceptualize what is owed to animals as a matter of justice by virtue of their Creator’s right. Animals can be wronged because their Creator can be wronged in his creation” (Linzey, Animal Theology 27). 2. Covenant Linzey reminds readers that the biblical covenant of Genesis 9 is between God and all of creation. Scripture regarding this divine covenant is no less than redundant in emphasizing that God’s agreement is with all creatures: Then God said to Noah and to his sons with him, “As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.” God said, “This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.” God said to Noah, “This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth.” (Gen. 9:8–17)

Five times this biblical passage asserts that God’s Genesis 9 covenant includes “every living creature,” perhaps indicating that this inclusion is of particular importance. It is not written that the covenant was made between God and people about the rest of creation. Rather, scripture informs us that God established a covenant with all created life. For the purposes of God’s covenant, “humankind and animalkind are so integrally related they cannot really be separated” (Linzey, After 22).

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Other passages in the Hebrew Scriptures (Old Testament) support Linzey’s emphasis on a shared covenant. For instance, animals (including humans) are protected from work on the Sabbath; neither human slaves nor burros are to be burdened on the seventh day (Myers 897). Deuteronomy instructs that “the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work—you, or your son or your daughter, or your male or female slave, or your ox or your donkey, or any of your livestock . . .” (5:14). Hebrew law also requires the faithful to refrain from causing distress to any of God’s creatures. Proverbs 12:10 states, “The righteous know the needs of their animals, but the mercy of the wicked is cruel,” and Deuteronomy 25:4, “You shall not muzzle an ox while it treads out the grain.” These ancient Jewish “regulations, virtually forgotten today, bespeak an eloquent awareness of the status of animals as ends in themselves” (Rollin 52). Scripture indicates that the God who created all protects all, and Linzey asserts that only the compassionate might be considered righteous (Linzey, After 23–24). Protectionist tendencies in the Hebrew Scriptures have not gone completely unnoticed. Rabbinical exegesis specifically notes God’s overarching, providential care, the need for humans to emulate such care in their dealings with anymals, Sabbath regulations concerning anymals, and the underlying scriptural principle of compassion (Linzey, After 24). 3. Challenges The Bible presents challenges to Linzey’s protectionist analysis. He discusses three stumbling blocks: anymal sacrifice, flesh eating, and “dominion.” a. Anymal Sacrifice In some ways the Hebrew Scriptures present the Judeo-Christian God as arbitrary and bloodthirsty: God created sentient creatures, destroyed in the flood most of what had been created, then enjoyed the smell of a burnt offering when Noah and his family offered anymal sacrifices (“the Lord smelled the pleasing odor,” Gen. 8:21). After ordering Noah to protect and preserve created anymals by taking them on the ark, scripture suggests that God delights in their sacrifice when they finally reach dry land. This passage is as powerful in its brevity and clarity as it is in its implications. How can

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those of faith make sense of such apparent contradictions? Hebrew Scripture raises fundamental concerns regarding the value of life, including human life. What are we to make of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac, the destruction of life in the flood, God being pleased with the odor of burning flesh, and the blood of Jesus on the cross? The Bible was written by many hands, over many years, and was ultimately compiled by yet other unknown individuals. It is therefore not surprising that the Bible lacks internal consistency. Nonetheless, there is a tremendous amount to be gained—yet more details of history and scripture to be understood—by studying these discrepancies. With regard to anymal sacrifice, it is important to first understand that during biblical times such sacrifices were viewed differently from what we think of today. Second, attitudes toward sacrifice, as revealed in the Bible, were in flux; blood rituals were controversial even in biblical times. Linzey approaches the issue of anymal sacrifice from five different angles. First, he elucidates the ancient implications of such sacrifice. In biblical times this blood ritual was not viewed as the destruction of anymals for human ends, but rather as completion, the returning of anymals back to their Maker (Linzey, Animal Theology 104). In this sense anymal sacrifice is yet another acknowledgment of the link between anymals and God. Sacrifice returned them to their creator, which pleased the deity, and was a “confirmation of their existence beyond death” (Linzey, After 5). Biblical death is not viewed as an end, but as completion, shared by all animals, including people. In this light there is no reason why Isaac ought not to have been sacrificed, except out of compassion for loved ones, such as the father, who had been asked to slay his own son. Indeed, God shows compassion and allows a ram to be sacrificed in Isaac’s place. Killing another human being is not understood to be a completion, or a returning to the maker in contemporary Christianity, but an unjustified acquisition of God’s exclusive duty by human beings—“playing God.” Inasmuch as we do not consider killing a human being to be a completion, those of faith cannot claim that this ancient outlook is applicable to anymal life. Second, while biblical objections to anymal sacrifice were directed against cults of the time, such objections also speak against the spilling of blood for religious purposes (Linzey, Animal Theology 105). Death per se does not seem to be an issue, but killing as religious ritual is.

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Linzey cites Isaiah 1:11: “What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices? says the Lord; I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams and the fat of fed beasts; I do not delight in the blood of bulls or of lambs, or of he-goats.” Some passages reveal a Hebrew God who disapproves of anymal sacrifice as a misguided and undesirable ritual. Third, Linzey cites scriptures that denounce anymal sacrifice as beside the point. The Bible indicates that, rather than kill for God, people ought to live for one another. Instead of killing the fatted lamb, tend the downtrodden; rather than cover your hands with blood, fill your hearts with directive compassion. “When you stretch out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you; even though you make many prayers, I will not listen; your hands are full of blood. Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow” (Isa. 1:15–17). This passage reminds readers that the deity does not prefer that we spend our time and energy sacrificing anymals when there are more worthy deeds to be done in the name of God. Fourth, Linzey notes that God’s all-inclusive ownership makes anymal sacrifice pointless. All of creation is God’s—God’s from inception. Why would we offer to the Almighty what is already God’s? “I will not accept a bull from your house, or goats from your folds. For every wild animal of the forest is mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. I know all the birds of the air, and all that moves in this field is mine” (Ps. 50:9–11). Something is decidedly askew when one created being offers up another as a sacrifice to the creator. While Hebrew Scriptures offer a few strong and pointed comments against anymal sacrifice, the New Testament annuls this archaic ritual. Linzey’s discussion of anymal sacrifice culminates with reference to the New Testament. Those who follow Jesus “believe that the sacrificial tradition has reached its ultimate point and climax in the sacrifice of Christ . . . through him, and not through the sacrifices of animals . . . we are able to find ourselves in our Father’s presence” (Linzey, Animal Theology 105). Christians look to Jesus as the eternal, ultimate sacrifice. His sacrifice on the cross annuls and makes reprehensible all other forms of sacrifice. For Christians the New Testament completes and fulfills the Hebrew Scriptures, and the death of Jesus abrogated anymal sacrifice.

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b. Dominion The assertion of human supremacy or “dominion” is pre-Christian, showing up most famously in the works of Aristotle, yet this notion became entrenched in Judaism and Christianity. Western religions have made a bad name for themselves among advocates for the earth and activists for anymals by accepting—even insisting on—exploitative dominion. Christians who accept the “dominion thesis” often assert that “animal life is of little or no value—for why else would God have given humans dominion over the other animals and told us that we may kill them for food?” (Singer, Animals 230). In its classic form the “Dominion Thesis [is] . . . human chauvinism, according to which items outside the privileged human class have zero intrinsic value, . . . earth and all its nonhuman contents exist or are available for man’s benefit and to serve his interests . . .” (Routley 56). Those who accept the Dominion Thesis believe that “man is entitled to manipulate the world and its systems” as preferred, that is, in the interests of human beings (Routley 56). From the standpoint of dominion, we “see with arrogant eyes” a world in which everything is organized in reference to our interests (Curtin, “Making” 66). Is this really what the Christian God intended? Most theologians who seek an environmentally sound theology within the Christian tradition reject traditional notions of dominion (Nash 95). Linzey accepts dominion, but not this dominion. In his view of dominion, human beings are accountable to the deity for all that we do, and we are not to be despots but to “maintain the kingdom (the reign) of peace and righteousness, that is, God’s order” (Linzey, Christianity 27). Far too often, Christians have accepted the common secular view that we are the masters of animals, their rulers or owners—utterly forgetting that the dominion promised to humanity is a deputised dominion, in which we are to stand before creation as God’s vice-regents, putting into effect not our own egotistical wants but God’s own law of love and mercy. (Animal Gospel 14)

Linzey rejects humanocentric traditional notions of Christian dominion, but accepts a religiously based hierarchy, to which we will soon turn.

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c. Flesh Eating Linzey argues that the divinely ordained diet revealed in scripture supports his understanding of human dominion, which entails enhanced human responsibility. Linzey asserts that a fleshless diet, as ordained in Judeo-Christian scripture, is the best supported of all protectionist claims; dominion was granted to vegetarian overlords (Animal Theology 126): God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” God said, “See, I have given you every plant yielding seed which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food. And to every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food.” And it was so. God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. (Gen. 1:28–31)

This passage reveals the original, divinely ordained diet for human beings (Buttrick 1:486), and it is “altogether a vegetarian food supply” (C. Allen 1:132). According to Hebrew Scripture, even animals that we know as carnivores originally ate only vegetable matter. The point of Genesis 1:29 “is not what man may eat, but rather that he may not eat flesh.” This scripture recalls “a primitive golden age when men were at peace with the beasts” (Buttrick 1:486). Genesis 1 envisages an ideal world, created by an ideal God, in which “overlordship does not include the right to kill animals for food” (C. Allen 1:132). The original creation was one of pervasive peace, when all creatures were companions to one another, fellow earthlings in the warmest sense. “Man is thus to be a vegetarian” (Buttrick 1:486). After placing vegetarian humans in charge of a vegetarian creation, God is pleased and notes that his creation is “very good” (Gen. 1:31). Then God places people in the peaceful garden to “till and keep” the world as God made it (Gen. 2:15). The dominion offered by God was not exploitative or humanocentric. “Dominion” has been twisted to “comply with preconceived ideas and established practice” (Linzey, After 18), tainted by humanocentric Greek philosophy and theology so that few Christians even ponder the original creation or the deity’s ideal dietary offering to humanity. In truth,

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“herb-eating dominion is hardly a license for tyranny” (Animal Theology 126). The traditional Dominion Thesis justifies ancient human practices, “including the killing of animals for food—a practice that was, no doubt, in existence long before Genesis was written” (Singer, “Animals” 231). Rather than bend our ways to comply with God’s intent, as indicated in scripture, Christians have custom-tailored the meaning of “dominion” to allow for selfish acquisition and brutal dominance. Genesis informs us that people were “set over the world to look after it, to care for it, as God would do” (Linzey, After 19). Linzey reminds Christians of this original world of peace and harmony, “free from violence, predation, strife and cruelty,” which God describes as “very good,” then rests on the seventh day with all of creation (Linzey, After 20). In God’s ideal world, as described in scripture, Linzey finds “dominion” to be a labor of love. How did the creatures of God come to eat one another? The answer is provided later in Genesis. God observes changes on the planet: Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight, and the earth was filled with violence. And God saw the earth was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted its ways upon the earth. And God said to Noah, “I have determined to make an end of all flesh; for the earth is filled with violence because of them; now I am going to destroy them along with the earth.” (Gen. 6:11–13)

But God does not destroy all of creation. After causing a great flood, the deity offers a rainbow as a promise to survivors (all creatures that survived) that such destruction will never be brought by God again. Next, the deity grants flesh eating in despair at the sinful nature of humankind. The Almighty looked upon the earth, at the corruption and violence brought by creation, at the damage of the flood, and accepted the demise of the original peaceable kingdom. Linzey views God’s concession as a divine gesture of reconciliation, as God’s acceptance of human shortcomings. While God grants that humans might eat the bodies of other creatures, Linzey reminds his followers that this new diet is a concession given after great upheaval—it is not what God intended or preferred (Linzey, Animal Theology 127). In marked contrast to the original dietary announcements, the tone is threatening and divisive:

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chapter five The fear of you and dread of you shall rest upon every animal of the earth, and on every bird of the air, on everything that creeps on the ground, and all the fish of the sea; into your hand they are delivered. Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you; and just as I gave you the green plants, I give you everything. (Gen. 9:2–4)

As readers we must remember that we are inside the Christian tradition. While one might reasonably object to a deity that grants insubordinate, violent creations the privilege of eating other creations, scripture indicates that God does indeed grant flesh eating as a concession to a world filled with violence—a world the deity did not originally create. There is much an atheist or Hindu might say about such a God, but within the Christian tradition, the scriptural story line is given: God creates a vegan world, violence comes into the world, and God grants flesh eating in light of the sinfulness of earthly flesh. From a theological point of view, it is the interpretation of these passages that might be questioned, not the unfolding of the described events themselves. For those that believe the Bible to hold spiritual truths, eating flesh is not presented therein as ideal, or even good; it is merely tolerated. “At the heart of the Christian Gospel is the dream of universal peace, a world where humans are no longer violent and cruel to other creatures” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 81). Linzey reminds Christians that eating flesh was a concession granted to humans when they proved incapable of doing any better (Animal Theology 127). Consistent with God’s original plan, consistent with the Hebrew Scriptures, “Judaism has invariably held vegetarianism to be the ideal God-given diet for human beings” (Linzey, After 57). Though few have practiced this ideal, many Jews acknowledge the preference for a more peaceful, less violent world—including a vegetarian diet. Christians generally do not. According to scripture, immediately after granting this concession God seeks to restrict human carnivorous inclinations. The nature of these restrictions reminds us that God is not pleased with the new order of violence and exploitation (Linzey, Animal Theology 27). God granted flesh eating to sinful humans but added, “[Y]ou shall not eat flesh with its life, that is, its blood. For your own lifeblood I will surely require a reckoning: from every animal I will require it and from human beings, each one for the blood of another, I will require a reckoning for human life” (Gen. 9: 4–5). This passage informs flesh eaters that they are accountable to the Creator for any anymals

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killed. “Life is everywhere and always God’s peculiar possession,” and through such added restrictions divine law is “universalized and made a law of all life—human and animal” (C. Allen 1:155). Nonprotectionist biblical scholars agree with Linzey’s dietary assessments. They generally agree that when people were granted the right to eat meat “it marked the end of the golden age . . . in which men lived in harmony with the beasts” (Buttrick 1:549). Overall, they agree that meat eating was never God’s ideal—preying on one another was contrary to the deity’s original idea of how we ought to live. They tend to agree that dominion, as presented in the Bible, did not include flesh eating. And generally scholars agree that the peaceable kingdom, a vegetarian world, remains the divine ideal. 4. Life of Jesus The Hebrew bible, and Jewish traditions and teachings, have been foundational to both Christianity and Western culture in general, including views regarding anymals (Linzey, After 17). Lessons of the Hebrew Scriptures with regard to anymals are particularly important because the New Testament offers little explicit information about how humans ought to behave toward other living creatures. There is relatively little about animals in the New Testament. They are referred to incidentally in descriptions of everyday life and appear in parables and figures of speech, but they are never the express topic of any passage. . . . The Old Testament point of view on animals was taken as valid in Judaism at the time of Jesus, and in the New Testament is considered as self-evident. (Vischer 15)

Little mention is made of anymals in the New Testament; what comments there are sometimes seem flagrantly against protectionism, such as the incident with the swine of Gerasene (Mark 5:11–14). Linzey notes that even with regard to a strict vegetarian lifestyle the New Testament is problematic—Jesus ate fish—or at least did not complain about the killing of fish for food during his short lifetime. While not expressly stated, it is generally assumed that Jesus ate lamb at the Passover meal. In the absence of concrete protectionist statements, and in light of a few decidedly antiprotectionist passages, Linzey turns to a general assessment of New Testament teachings (Linzey, After 63), noting that the overall life of Jesus calls Christians to a protectionist lifestyle. Hebrew Scriptures are larger and more diverse. The New

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Testament focuses on the life and teachings of Christ first and foremost, and the teachings of Paul, and is strongly moralistic. So Linzey is able to point to the life of Jesus as the most important indicator of an ideal Christian lifestyle; he asserts that Jesus’s life supports protectionism. Linzey writes that the particular details, such as the eating of fish and the incident with the swine of Gerasene, are not as important as the more general message carried by Jesus (“Animals” 135). For instance, it is not important that Jesus was a Middle Eastern man in a Hebrew culture. If this were important, how could a Bantu woman born in 1989 find any commonalty with Christ or Christianity? How could she live as Jesus lived—speak his language, eat the same foods, wear the same clothing that Jesus wore, or feel any part of the life that Jesus lived as a Middle Eastern man two thousand years ago? Such particulars are largely irrelevant to how a Christian ought to live. Christianity relies little on specific commandments, much on the effects of character. Instead of explicitly and ineffectively condemning slavery, it modified the characters of Christians in such a way that they eventually saw slavery to be incompatible with their religious principles. Similarly, although the Bible does not abound in specific injunctions against cruelty to animals, the devout and intelligent practice of biblical religion created a state of mind out of which the modern movement for the legal prohibition of cruelty to animals grew up. (M. Hume 3)

Linzey notes that the example offered by Jesus during his lifetime was protectionist. “The power of God is redefined in Jesus as practical costly service extending to those who are beyond the normal boundaries of human concern: the diseased, the poor, the oppressed, the outcasts. If humans are to claim a lordship over creation, then it can only be a lordship of service” (Animal Gospel 43). The New Testament introduces Jesus as one who exemplified self-sacrifice and service to “the least of these” (Matt. 25:40), as one deeply concerned for the downtrodden (Linzey, Animal Theology 135). He ministered to prostitutes, praised old women, and healed lepers. Though Christians view Jesus as revealing the nature of God—great and perfect by nature—he lived a life devoted to weak and imperfect beings. Christ’s overall message speaks of compassion and service of the strong for the weak, of the high for the lowly. Linzey writes: I suggest that the failure of the Church to champion humaneness is a fundamental failure on its own part to understand its own Gospel.

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For that Gospel as exemplified in Jesus Christ is about service to the sick, poor, disadvantaged, diseased, imprisoned, and all others who are regarded as the lowest of all, and not least to the whole world of suffering non-human creatures. . . . Christian churches have been part of the problem rather than part of the solution. We cannot love God and be indifferent to suffering creatures. (Animal Gospel 94)

It is this strong and consistent message, Linzey asserts, that ought to guide the Christian life—that ought to guide Christians to a protectionist lifestyle. 5. Linzey’s Generosity Paradigm Using Jesus as a compassionate, self-giving moral exemplar, Linzey presents his “Generosity Paradigm” (Animal Theology 30–33). Linzey first comments that each aspect of creation has fallen, and that God cares for creation: “For if God is the Creator of all creatures, it must follow that God cares for them all” (Linzey, After 71). Under the care of a just and loving God, how can anything included in the fall be exempt from salvation? “Nature too was cursed by Adam’s fall, so too we must expect a transformation of all creation” (Linzey, After 82). Nature is “destined to share in the redemption of God’s people” (C. Allen 5:232). Linzey calls attention to Paul’s letter to the Romans, where Paul clearly states that God intends future glory to be shared by all of creation (Animal Theology 71): I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves . . . (Rom. 8:18–23)

Linzey also cites Ephesians and Colossians, both of which remind that all of creation shares the promise and the curse; all of creation is united in Jesus (Animal Theology 70): With all wisdom and insight he has made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure which he set forth in Christ, as a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth. (Eph. 1:9–10)

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chapter five [F]or in him all things in heaven and on earth were created . . . all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the first-born from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross. (Col. 1:16–20)

Through these passages from Romans, Colossians, and Ephesians, Linzey establishes that all of creation has eternal significance, and all of creation is contained in Christ and reconciled through Christ. “God’s ministry in Christ is not limited to one species alone. ‘All things’ is the big biblical idea that we have still to learn—yes ‘all things’ in Christ” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 176). Linzey concludes that Jesus as redeemer acts for every aspect of creation; anymals are morally considerable because they are creatures of God. Linzey asserts that a good and loving God must remain morally responsible for and invested in every sentient being: “[A] redeeming God could not eschew the sighing and suffering of all creatures” (Animal Gospel 34). We “must not dare not suppose that God the Creator is solely preoccupied with the human species” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 171). Suffering is part of life and is central to scripture. The Israelite nation, defeated and displaced, is a model of ongoing suffering. Suffering is central to the life of Jesus, epitomized in his betrayal and death on the cross. But to create sentient anymals and then turn away from their cries is not consistent with the Christian concept of a just and loving God (Linzey, Animal Theology 98–100). God cares about all aspects of creation; nothing that has lived and suffered can be overlooked by a just and good God. “God’s Spirit is free and unchained. The Spirit is alive and abroad in creation whether or not the churches recognise it” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 167). In as much as Jesus is present in all love and life here on earth, the deity is also present in suffering (Linzey, Animal Theology 48–52). “If God is pre-eminently present in the suffering of the vulnerable, the undefended, the unprotected and the innocent, God’s suffering presence is to be located . . . in the suffering of all the vulnerable, undefended, unprotected and innocent in this world, including animals” (Linzey, After 129). If Christians are to live their lives according to scripture, they are obligated to help make God’s loving embrace manifest in this world.

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To do so, they must expand their “understanding of the justice of God . . ., which extends to the smallest part of creation” (Linzey, After 127). By working for peace with anymals in our daily lives, Christians “cooperate with God’s Spirit in the work of wholeness and renewal” (Linzey, After 109). As Christ’s life was devoted to the eternal salvation of earthly beings, Linzey asserts that Christians ought to devote their lives to the earthly salvation of anymals. “If man’s superior capacities confer on him a privileged position, privilege does not exempt him from responsibility: ‘A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast’ (Prov. 12:10)” (M. Hume 6–7). Linzey insists that Christians acknowledge the moral reality of being in covenant with other creatures. “The hope of living without violence is, after all, at the heart of the gospel” (Linzey, After 106). Also at the heart of Christian morality lies love. Linzey observes that many nonchurch people seem to have perceived “the Gospel of life, and God’s nonhuman life especially,” more than many ardent Christians (Animal Gospel 168). Readers sense Linzey’s disenchantment with Christian churches, who wish to focus human hearts only on human needs. Linzey remonstrates, “It is a poor theology that wants to limit love” (Animal Gospel 69). But nowhere does Linzey blame God or scripture for human shortcomings; he blames the flock. “God’s love is free, generous and unlimited[;] Christians have been only too good at placing limits on Divine Love” (Animal Gospel 24). The church itself, and individuals therein, have failed to perceive the meaning of their own spiritual teachings, and they might rediscover the truth through protectionism, through anymals themselves. “I suspect that the Spirit is preparing a time of humbling for the churches. For so long they have heard the Gospel of God’s love and simply turned their backs. Now the churches will have to listen again to the Spirit in the world in order to rediscover the truth of their own Gospel” (Animal Gospel 168). And what is this Gospel? It is nothing less than the conviction and experience that God loves the whole world. What we see in Jesus is the revelation of an inclusive, all-embracing, generous loving. A loving that washes the feet of the world. A loving that heals individuals from oppression, both physical and spiritual. A loving that takes sides with the poor, vulnerable, diseased, hated, despised, and outcasts of his day. A loving that is summed up in his absolute commitment to love at all costs, even in extreme suffering and death. (Linzey, Animal Gospel 23)

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What Christians have failed to see is that “the love of God is inclusive not only of humans but also all creatures” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 24). Generous, risky love is part of Christianity—reaching outside the box with one’s own heart is fundamental to the life and ministry of Jesus. “If we love nothing, we suffer little, if at all” (Linzey, After 102). As God was born and died for mortal, earthling creations, Christians are to engage in costly, loving condescension toward creation. “Until all violence is overcome by love, not just for the human species, but for all sentient beings, creation remains unfinished and incomplete” (Linzey, After 76). Linzey’s Generosity Paradigm asserts that the obligation of human dominion entails self-sacrifice for the sake of other sentient creatures. “According to the theological doctrine of animal rights, then, humans are to be the servant species: the species given power, opportunity and privilege to give themselves, nay sacrifice themselves, for the weaker, suffering creatures” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 44). a. Hierarchy Linzey does not assert that the Generosity Paradigm applies equally to all of creation. Linzey reminds readers that God brought about creation in a particular order, and God created a morally considerable difference between inanimate objects and sentient creatures (Linzey, Animal Theology 4). Linzey draws a line between sentient and nonsentient creatures via Jewish rabbinical teaching based on capacity for injury. Jewish rabbis have long upheld a principle encompassed in the Hebrew phrase, “tsa’ar ba’alei chayim” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 59), “which prohibits the causing of unnecessary suffering to any living being” (Linzey, After 11). Inanimate objects, such as stones, are incapable of being injured, while “slugs, snails, and earthworms,” fill a “gray area” which in no way permits of “gratuitous slaughter” (Linzey, Animal Theology 74). Linzey maintains the traditional view of hierarchy, in which people hold a special position amid creation—we were created last and we were given dominion. “Christian tradition clearly makes a distinction between humans and animals, and also between animals and vegetables” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 42). Yet Linzey repeatedly and adamantly rejects the traditional view of dominion, where anymals are less important (Animal Theology 103). “It is spiritually infantile that we should continue to look upon the world as ‘made for us’ and animals simply as means to human ends, as resources, as tools, as

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machines, indeed simply as things” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 25). Linzey asserts that the deity’s affirmation of humans does not constitute a divine denial of all other created beings. The special place of humans, ordained by the deity, is as servants of God. Our dominion “is not the brutalizing regime of a tyrant. Rather, God elects humanity to represent and actualize the loving, divine will for all creatures. Humanity is the one species chosen to look after the cosmic garden (Gen. 2:15)” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 43). In acknowledgment of this special role, Linzey suggests that Jews and Christians (and Muslims) ought to show reverence for God through respect for creation—which is God’s alone (Linzey, Animal Theology 96–97). Linzey is aware that his views maintain traditional (and much lamented) paternalism. But he reminds that the gospels make no appeal to equality; paternalism is as biblical as the fall: “[O]bligation is always and everywhere on the ‘higher’ to sacrifice for the ‘lower’; for the strong, powerful and rich to give to those who are vulnerable, poor or powerless. In this respect it is the sheer vulnerability of animals, and correspondingly our absolute power over them, which strengthens and compels the response of moral generosity” (Linzey, Animal Theology 32). It is in this spiritual context that humans were given dominion, and it is in light of this context that we ought to fulfill our duties. “The steward’s duties arise from her or his special relationship to the creator and the rest of creation” (Gunn, “Traditional” 152–53). Humans hold a special position in relation to God, and with it comes tremendous responsibility. We need a conception of ourselves in the universe not as the master species but as the servant species: as the one being given responsibility for the whole and for the good of the whole. We must move from the idea that the animals were given to us and made for us, to the idea that we were made for creation, to serve it and ensure its continuance. This actually is little more than the theology of Genesis chapter two. The garden is made beautiful and abounds with life; humans are created specifically to “take care of it” (Gen. 2:15). (Linzey, “Arrogance” 69)

b. Salvation through Protectionism “[T]o stand with Jesus means to stand against the abuse of animals” (Animal Gospel 13). Linzey asserts that we can find our own way to

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God, and to salvation, through actualizing the Generosity Paradigm in daily life. If we acknowledge the suffering of innocents—and work to relieve that suffering—we can come closer to God’s creation, and to God. St. Catherine of Siena wrote, those who are devoted to God love all of God’s creatures “so deeply” because “they realize how deeply Christ loves them,” and to love what is loved by God because it is loved by God, is the essence of a Christian heart (Linzey, After 74). “The work of caring for creation, of saving animals from our own ruthlessness and greed, is an evangelical work, in that it shows forth the Gospel” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 19). Faith in Jesus, “believing the Gospels,” Linzey suggests, “can, and should, make a difference to our daily interactions with other creatures” (Animal Gospel 13). Linzey finds room for a change of heart and action in daily life. “Christians at least should begin with themselves—examining their own roles as shoppers and consumers. The international trade in furs will die when people no longer want to buy them” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 146). But of course anymals killed for their fur are not the most pressing issue we must face, nor is this the issue most Christians will need to focus on if they are to “begin with themselves.” Christians will need to remove anymal products from their diet if they are to stop supporting cruelty as consumers. “The truth is that human beings can now approximate the peaceable kingdom by living without killing sentients for food” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 36). Linzey advocates for change, but consistent with his vision, rejects violent change. We ought to change our shopping habits, not change the shopping mall: “It must be as wrong to fire-bomb a fur shop as it is to inflict suffering on animals in pursuit of scientific advantage. To pursue animal rights by infringing human rights is logically selfcontradictory” (Animal Gospel 100). For Linzey, “sensitivity to animals may well be a test of our theology. For to know the Word made flesh requires that we honor all flesh” (Linzey, After 103). In this way, Linzey writes, we will find redemption—by entering into the suffering of anymals and sharing some of what Jesus suffered on our account. Summary Linzey’s theological protectionism combines a traditional Western hierarchy with an obligation to act with Christlike compassion and munificence. His work calls Christians away from what he views as

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a self-centered, humanistic approach to life and the world and insists that redemption lies in humble subservience to God’s travailing creation, as exemplified by Jesus. Through the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament Linzey asserts that God offered humans a “dominion” that required selfsacrificing service to God’s bountiful creation; humans have been “commissioned to liberate God’s creation” through Christlike selfsacrifice (Linzey, Animal Theology 71). When Christians accept this religious obligation we participate in the suffering of Christ—and of all creation—and we follow a path that ultimately leads to God and thereby to our own redemption. Through scripture Linzey reveals a peace-loving God that created a vegetarian world placing humans as caretakers. From scripture he derives his Generosity Paradigm, which insists that humans foster a loving relationship with God’s creation, and whereby the higher (human beings) sacrifice for the lower (anymals). The creation hierarchy is not to be interpreted as a justification for exploitation, but as a call to duty. “If our power over animals confers upon us any rights, there is only one: the right to serve” (Linzey, Animal Theology 38). D. Discussion The first part of this discussion examines two general issues central to Linzey’s work: his theological assumptions and the preeminence of scripture, especially the Gospels. The second section explores Linzey’s interpretation and selection of scripture. The final section investigates theoretical matters (theos-centered protectionism, Linzey’s assertion of biblical hierarchy, and his description of proper avenues through which Christians might liberate anymals), noting difficulties and possible far-reaching implications. 1. General Issues a. Theological Assumptions Linzey’s thesis rests on common, unsupported, theological assumptions such as the existence of a divine power that created the universe, the authority of a text that teaches about the deity, the truth of Jesus as Christ, and the belief that certain consequences follow from these truths, such as the possibility of salvation and eternal life.

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Such assumptions are central to much Christian theology, including Linzey’s work, and must be taken on faith if one wishes to dialogue on protectionism with a theologian. Alternatively, one can turn scholarly attention to these assumptions, but the topic will not then be protectionism. For thousands of years human beings have appealed to gods for aid and comfort, and assumed the truth of spiritual dogma. From AIDS to SIDS we simply cannot satisfactorily explain or understand the lives in which we find ourselves, or deaths we must endure. Those of faith are sometimes better able to accept the difficulties and uncertainties of our existence through their belief that a higher power is in control. This does not put an end to human anguish: it is still “difficult to trace God’s ways in the world” (Marcus 233). Across time, from “the unconsoled grief of the human heart,” people have wondered why, at the hands of a God of love, there is so much sorrow, suffering, and adversity (Buttrick 5:320). But for the faithful there is at least a measure of acceptance. Christian scripture sometimes portrays God as beyond human comprehension: “The Lord will . . . do his deed—strange is his deed! and to work his work—alien is his work!” (Is. 28:21). Where divine matters are concerned, Christians are at times forced to accept human ignorance: We cannot know if the human concept of compassion and justice is consistent with the deity’s idea of compassion and justice. Andrew Linzey, of necessity, shares this human uncertainty. While he cannot know whether or not God is concerned with the hunger of a pygmy jerboa, the destruction of a long-tailed pangolin’s home, or the disappearance of the last elephant bird from the face of the earth, his approach is theologically sound, and in any case is almost universally accepted among Christians: God exists; God is compassionate; God is good; God is just and loving, and from this much else is deduced. Linzey is a theologian working from inside the Christian tradition. Readers will need to accept these unsupported claims if they wish to engage with his Christian protectionist theory. Linzey is not writing for atheists or Hindus; Linzey is writing for a Christian audience, a group of people likely to accept the same unsupported assumptions that Linzey accepts. While we might question the existence of God, such an approach to Linzey’s work is of little value. To question Linzey’s acceptance of the existence of a god is like questioning the existence of human rights when reading Regan’s

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work. Neither assertion can be proven, but each must be assumed to proceed with the theory presented. As it turns out, millions of people accept the existence of human rights, and millions of people accept the foundational Christian beliefs on which Linzey rests his protectionist work. Readers unwilling to accept unsupported religious claims are better off reading the works of Taylor, Singer, or Regan. However, because most of us live around and interact with Christians, it is worthwhile to understand Linzey’s Christian protectionist point of view. While readers do well to accept that Linzey is a theologian working from inside the Christian tradition, is it necessary to completely disregard the sciences? Linzey’s work does not reflect the teachings of science. His writing takes for granted that the Christian God created the universe as described in Genesis. Yet there are many Christians who accept the theory of evolution as more plausible than that of Genesis. Similarly, Linzey assumes that the biblical ascription of “dominion” is historic fact and a matter of great moral importance. Many contemporary Christians do not accept literal truths from the Bible; many hold no stake in the literal truth of scripture in light of the history of the Bible and the Christian church. As is the case for most theologians, Linzey assumes much and disregards much. His assumptions weaken the strength of his work for a broader audience, but do nothing to damage his protectionist interpretation for those who share his more conventional faith. When reading Linzey, one must be aware that Christian literature takes theological dogma for granted. While Linzey’s theological assumptions remain unsupported, they are widely accepted in the Christian world by both theologians and laity. For the purpose of this chapter, we accept Linzey’s most basic assumptions and step inside this conservative Christian world—at least for the most part—in order to understand and critique his work. In doing so, we do no more than we would for theologians writing against protectionism, people such as Robert Murray, who accept the same Christian foundations, but reach conclusions that conflict with those of Linzey. While it is reasonable to be critical if a theologian lacks consistency, or strays from his own foundational beliefs, it would make no sense from this insider’s perspective to question the foundations of Christian belief. This we leave to other authors so that we might focus on Linzey’s protectionist message.

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b. Preeminence of the Gospels Many books in the New Testament are attributed to Paul, but the most important New Testament documents for most Christians were not written by Paul. The first four books of the New Testament, the Gospels, which record the life and teachings of Jesus, form the core of scripture for most Christians. The life and teachings of Jesus are generally considered more fundamental and important than those of Jesus’s disciple Paul. The Gospels, therefore, take precedence over other scriptures. It is important to note that Linzey’s Generosity Paradigm is based on the overall life and teachings of Jesus—whom he views as God incarnate—not on the words of Paul. Paul, like other apostles, lacked Christ’s saintly inclinations, the innate tendency toward love and compassion. There is no illusion of saintliness or perfection in Paul’s life, especially his early life: He was excessively cruel before he became a Christian (Acts 7 and 8). Though he changed a great deal after his conversion, and was loved and respected by fellow Christians, Paul was never the moral exemplar that Christ was (M. Hume 6; Heb. 4:15), and freely admitted his shortcomings (Phil. 3:12). Indeed, in one of his last letters, Paul describes himself as foremost among sinners (1 Tim. 1:15). Christ, consistent with his claim to divinity, once demanded of his audience, “Which of you convicts me of sin?” ( John 8:46); even today, few dare to answer this challenge. Where protectionism is concerned, which particular scriptures one focuses on becomes particularly important. Paul was a townsman who had little interest in animals or farm life. He was a Jew highly influenced by Greco-Roman thought, yet he was instrumental in shaping Christian theology (Eliade 61). Scripture suggests that, for Paul, value flows only from God, revealing Stoic influence; he asserts that any value ascribed to earthly creation comes through humans and is due to the special relationship people have with God (L. Johnson 18). For example, 1 Corinthians 9:9: “For it is written in the law of Moses, ‘You shall not muzzle an ox while it is treading out the grain.’ Is it for oxen that God is concerned? Or does he not speak entirely for our sake? It was indeed written for our sake.” But other translations are less clear as to whether or not the oxen ought to be of concern; the Amplified version reads: “Is it [only] for oxen that God is having a care?” The Greek version does, indeed, leave room for the possibility that God is concerned with oxen. The passage can be read, “Is it only animals God is concerned with here,

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or is it also relevant for us?” (Halley, Unpublished). This reading is more consistent with scripture. Accordingly, the New Living Translation reads: “Do you suppose God was thinking only about oxen when he said this? Wasn’t he also speaking to us?” As Linzey notes, passages from Colossians, Ephesians, and Romans establish that all of creation has eternal significance, that all of creation is contained in Christ and reconciled through Christ. While Paul’s writings remain central to Christianity, Linzey prioritizes writings that record the words and deeds of Jesus over other books of the Bible. Linzey’s Generosity Paradigm is based on fundamental Christian virtues exemplified by Jesus: self-sacrificing love, compassion, and attention to the suffering and needy. Christian ideals rooted in the life and teachings of Jesus are held to be primary. It is in these books that we find Christianity’s central teachings of love and compassion, the teachings of Christ, which push people toward an expression of unlimited love, especially toward the downtrodden. 2. Interpretation of Scripture a. Genesis With regard to Linzey’s discussion of Genesis, three points require closer investigation: the original diet prescribed by God, God’s reaction to the original creation, and the existence of poisonous plants. i. the original diet Genesis 1 instructs people to eat “every plant yielding seed . . . and every tree with seed in its fruit,” and to all anymals God grants “every green plant for food” (29–30). Linzey notes that Genesis 1 indicates that we were not intended to eat flesh, but he does not note that, according to Genesis 1, God also did not intend us to partake of dairy or eggs. God’s plan was that we be vegans; in the diet originally ordained by God, no creature was to partake of any anymal products. This distinction is important because of the cruelty currently associated with anymal industries that supply food for humans. A vegan diet avoids suffering inherent in the human consumption of anymal products, whether milk, eggs, or flesh. Many who understand current Western dairy and poultry practices, many who are aware of the mother-child relationship among mammals (and are concerned about spirituality or ethics), reject both diary products and eggs along

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with flesh. The reason for this is simple. If God intended hens to be treated as they are treated in high-production egg industries, then God cannot be considered compassionate; if God is compassionate, then these industries are contrary to the deity’s intent. For those inside this faith tradition, God is viewed as, overall, compassionate and merciful rather than cruel or indifferent. Scriptures protect against suffering entailed in the consumption of undeveloped embryos and nursing milk, such as the cryptic passages that forbid boiling a kid goat in the milk of its mother (Ex. 23:19 and 34:26, Deut. 14:21). Jewish law explicitly protects mother-child bonds, particularly with regard to newborns, by forbidding the sacrifice of offspring that are less than eight days old—effectively allowing the mother to suckle her young. In contrast, modern dairy farmers often take calves from their mothers on the day of birth in order to ship off the calves, who will be slaughtered for veal in about six months. Similarly, millions of hens are denied the opportunity to sit on their eggs, or experience the hatching of a chick, or engage in the care of young. Jewish religious law, if honored, requires a measure of respect for the bond between mother and offspring, a bond that is ignored by contemporary egg and dairy industries (Linzey, After 30–31). Maimonides (1135–1204), one of the most influential Jewish theologians, interpreted the repeated biblical injunction not to “boil a kid in its mother’s milk” (Ex. 23:19 and 34:26, Deut. 14:21) as protection against acts that harden the human heart (Linzey, After 47). Additionally, Maimonides asserted that Deuteronomy 22:6–7, regarding a mother bird and her young in the nest, limits the disruption that humans may cause, forbidding people from taking both mother and the eggs or young: “[Y]ou shall not take the mother with the young. Let the mother go.” Maimonides taught that this injunction is a minimum requirement, and that we ought to leave both the young and the mother, so that the mother will “not be pained by seeing that the young are taken away” (Linzey, After 46–47). For many Jewish people the biblical injunction requiring Jews not to “boil a kid in its mother’s milk” has become the basis of a separation between dairy and flesh meals, which is upheld in many kosher households around the world (Eerdmans 719). Yet neither Christians nor Jews recognize in this passage, or in other biblical passages, a recommendation to reject both dairy and flesh. Historically,

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the Jewish tradition has held a fleshless diet in high esteem, but flesh eating (and animal sacrifice) prevailed early on, and this diet remains the norm, even though the original diet ordained by God is vegan. ii. God’s reaction Genesis 1:31 reads: “[I]t was very good” (Gen. 1:31). The deity’s world-affirming reaction to creation is one of the pegs on which Linzey rests his “theos-rights,” though he does not develop this argument in Animal Theology. Scripture reveals that God takes great pleasure in creation. These four words, “it was very good,” indicate the “completely perfect character of what has been created, without flaw, without pain, all in its ordained order . . . also the pleasure and the delight of the divine viewer” (C. Allen 1:132). God was very pleased with the new peaceful, vegan creation. Such a world was “very good” in the sight of the Almighty. “Six times before our appearance in the story of creation, God declared life to be good” (Saperstein 14), revealing the “intrinsic worth of species . . . ‘kol tov—and it was good.’ In the original Hebrew ‘good’ is singular, showing us that God views life in all its diversity as a fundamental unity” (Saperstein 14). This fundamental unity of creation was good before humankind was created, and this unity does not condone exploitation between species. In contrast, the deity’s response to flesh eating is one of limits and restrictions. When flesh eating is permitted, nowhere does scripture indicate that the deity said or thought that such a diet was good or desirable; nowhere, either in the Hebrew Scriptures or the New Testament is flesh eating indicated as a preferred diet. Genesis indicates that eating other creatures was merely permitted, a concession to human shortcomings—not what God intended or preferred, and much of the Torah regulates human behavior “so as to establish a just society in which privileges are protected but exploitation is prohibited” (Gulick 188). Christians and Jews must consider whether or not they ought to ignore God’s preference, a preference scripture shows to have been revealed at the very beginning of creation—at the very beginning of the Hebrew Scriptures—a preference for a vegan diet, a preference for a world without flesh eating, a preference for a world that “was very good” in God’s sight.

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iii. poisonous plants How might we account for poisonous plants in a world where God offered “every green plant for food” (Gen. 1:30)? There are at least two ways to answer this question. One might argue that poisonous plants are part of the prickliness brought on after the fall. In Genesis 3:18, God introduced undesirable and unpleasant vegetal changes, such as thorns and thistles, as a punishment because Adam and Eve ate of the forbidden fruit (Gen. 3:18). Only a scant few of the many prickly and troublesome plants we know of today (prickly and troublesome by human standards, at least) are mentioned in the Bible. Nonetheless, the myriad weeds and briars and the many poisonous plants might be explained as originating at the time of the fall. Alternatively, one might argue that the existence of poisonous plants is compatible with God’s original plan because God did not indicate that every creature should or could eat every plant. It would be reasonable (biologically speaking, it is essential) that plants be somewhat species specific. In this way each species might fill a niche, avoid debilitating competition, and prevent overuse of vegetation. Given this modern biological outlook, and given God’s delight in and responsibility to all of creation, such an explanation makes perfect sense. To overlook this option is to reveal a human-centered vision, where God was only referring to humans when every green thing was given for food. This is not the case. All animals—including but not limited to human beings—were given greenery and seeds for their “meat.” b. Swine of Gerasene Linzey mentions such sticky matters as the swine of Gerasene (also called Gergesene and Gadarene (Comparative 2339f )) (Matt. 8; Mark 5; Luke 8), and admits that such perplexing scriptures admit of no easy explanation—and he offers none. But something ought to be said with regard to this scripture. In the biblical story of the swine of Gerasene, a powerful, possessed man (or men) is (are) problematic to a community due to indwelling spirits. (Matthew 8:28 reports of “two demoniacs . . . so fierce that no one could pass that way.”) Jesus exorcizes the evil spirits and restores the man/men to a normal condition; those present are awed by the power of Jesus, who allows the spirits to depart

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through a group of pigs, on the request of the spirits. As a result, the pigs perish. While this story is not helpful to the cause of protectionism, such harm is definitely not the intent of the story. The story of the swine of Gerasene is not a moral lesson about how we ought to treat swine, nor is it a commentary on the value of creation, any more than the incident where Jesus causes a fig tree to wither is a comment on how we ought to view or treat fig trees (Matt. 21:18–22). This story reveals the miraculous powers of Jesus. It is also important to note that Jesus did not choose to banish the evil spirits to the herd of swine; the evil spirits themselves, who “were terrified to be without an abiding place,” requested to be sent into the swine (Eiselen 1006). Accounts read as though the evil spirits imagined that they could continue to exist among the swine. Instead, the possessed swine dash into the nearby waters and are drowned. Are the swine working with God, as do the lions with Daniel? This interpretation suggests that the swine are not victims but agents of God. There is yet more that might be pondered in this story. This passage targets the conversion of Gentiles (Keener 282). Gerasene and Gadarenes are cities in “Decapolis, or ten cities, a district peopled chiefly by Gentiles” (Eiselen 1006). “The presence of pigs further underlines the Gentile character of the region, since observant Jews would avoid raising pigs (e.g. Lev. 11:7; Deut. 14:8 . . .)” (Keener 282). Pigs, viewed as unclean by the Jewish community (based on the Hebrew Scriptures, Lev. 11:7, Deut. 14:8), were not slaughtered or consumed by observant Jews. (Pigs were not viewed as unclean because of their nature, or their habits, but due to their biology— they are cloven hoofed but not ruminant. Being outside this clearly delineated category, they were listed as “unclean” (Lev. 11:7; Douglas 69)). In this Gentile area there remains a large population of Jews, and “the earliest Jewish hearers of this story would have nodded knowingly that demons wished to enter unclean pigs and that Jesus let the herd perish” (Keener 287). Further, it is unclear whether this herd of pigs might not have been owned by Jewish people who were defying the laws and traditions of their faith (W. Smith 666). If so, there may be more to this story than is commonly understood, including political and religious differences. Yet this interpretation is also incompatible with protectionism: “Unclean” pigs remain alive after the meal is served, but if these laws are ignored, pigs may be eaten.

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In any event, such political and social details seem irrelevant to the overall message of the Bible, and of this particular passage. Perhaps because Jesus is a moral teacher, and not a violent man, some commentators report that Jesus healed the possessed man/men without harming the swine; the swine were “stampeded by the ravings of the maniac” (Eiselen 1006). Each scripture must be viewed in the larger context of the Gospel. The intent of this scripture is not that we learn to be abusive toward pigs or to show disregard for their lives. Similarly, the injunction to “[l]et a woman learn in silence with full submission” (1 Tim. 2:11) is less important than the more general and pervasive biblical ethic of inclusiveness, and humble service to God, rooted in the life of Christ. Specific teachings that prescribe a subservient role to women, inasmuch as they conflict with the overall tenor of the Bible, do not override the larger message for most Christians. Today, for most Western Christians, biblical passages delineating a subordinate role for women do not prevent women from becoming competitive scholars or political leaders. How can Christianity be loving and inclusive if it silences more than half of the population? Specific biblical teachings with regard to the roles of women are rooted in the social standards of biblical times. Most Christians agree that these teachings are not the essence of the Bible; overall, scripture encourages involvement and inclusion. Consequently, women do not maintain silence in churches, though feminine voices breach specific biblical commands. Nor should Christians tolerate unnecessary suffering of anymals. Inasmuch as Christians seek out and honor the larger intent of scripture, why would Christians choose to allow a parable that relates the healing and restorative powers of Jesus to influence attitudes and actions toward pigs—much less anymals in general? The concession Jesus made to the evil spirits in the possessed man/men was not a compassionate act for the pigs; “the demoniacs mattered more to Jesus than the fate of the swine” (Keener 287). Yet the overall lesson of Christ is definitely one of compassion and inclusion. Why would Christians focus on the swine of Gerasene to justify abuse and exploitation when most contemporary Western churches recognize the larger context with regard to much more explicit biblical comments, such as those limiting the role of women in the church, in the family, and in society in general?

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c. Acts 10:9–16 Linzey briefly mentions Acts 10:9–16 as harmful to the cause of protectionism and as explicitly permitting the eating of flesh (Linzey, After 4). As the case with the swine of Gerasene, this portion of scripture can be viewed as harmful to the protectionist cause because it explicitly instructs that the eating of flesh is acceptable. But in this case a more important message ensconced in this passage is genuinely helpful to the cause of anymals, and standard biblical interpretations of Acts 10:9–16 pose no difficulties for the ideals and goals of protectionism. Acts 10:9–16 describes a vision Peter had while in a trance and his conversation with the deity. Peter saw “all kinds of four-footed creatures and reptiles and birds of the air. Then he heard a voice saying, ‘Get up, Peter; kill and eat.’ But Peter said, ‘By no means, Lord; for I have never eaten anything that is profane or unclean.” Peter refused to eat “because in such a collection of creatures, many were unclean and taboo for a Jew” (C. Allen 10:67). And the voice came to him again a second time, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane” (Acts 10:15). In the Hebrew Scriptures Israelites are forbidden to eat pigs, rabbits, shellfish, camels, vultures, geckos, weasels, or bats, though locust, katydids, and grasshoppers are permissible (Lev. 11:4–30). Meticulous dietary practice (laid out mainly in Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14, but also in Exodus 22 and 23, and Genesis 32) “has been a mainstay of Jewish ritual, and for it some have been martyred” (Schnall 416). Jewish food restrictions were intended “to separate the Jewish community in values and practices” from non-Jews (Schnall 416). Dietary differences have long been defining characteristics, important to membership and group identity (as was the case for early Christian orders, such as the Essenes, as well as more contemporary denominations, such as the Seventh Day Adventists). Theologians generally agree that Peter’s dream is an abrogation of tedious dietary laws intended to divide the faithful from the nonfaithful. “[P]riestly dietary laws, adapted by the Jews after Exile, contributed tremendously to the exclusive nature of the Jewish religion” (C. Allen 10:67). For a Jew in Peter’s time, “eating pagan food was an abomination, but to dine in the house of a pagan was much worse” (C. Allen 10:67).

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Such restrictive eating habits were anathema to the newly formed Christian tradition. Exclusivity harms unity, and Christianity was to be a religion for all. Christianity, which was rooted in a personal relationship with God, rejected food restrictions and rituals—exclusive habits of any kind. The importance of Peter’s dream is not as an injunction to eat other creatures, but rather to annul restrictive eating habits that set people apart from one another. Peter’s vision is part of a transition central to Christianity, a transition from the meticulous mechanisms of Jewish law to faith in Jesus, faith that leads one to do what is right by others, out of love, rather than meticulously follow dietary law. Through Peter’s dream Jewish food laws were “abrogated explicitly as they had been implicitly in Jesus’s teaching [Mark 7:14]” (Guthrie 985). Acts 10:9–16 warns “against the tendency to separate things and call some of them sacred and some secular. . . . The true division is between . . . that which is centered upon God and that which is not” (Buttrick 9:136–37). An act that causes others to turn away from the divine is not an act centered on God. Peter’s vision serves as an injunction to end a practice that created barriers between people. Peter’s vision does not encourage flesh eating, but asks the faithful to refocus religious practice on more fundamental aspects of spirituality, such as Jesus’s teachings of love and compassion for all. In the process of annulling Jewish food laws, Acts 10 indicates that it is acceptable to eat flesh. This is consistent with Genesis 9, where Linzey notes that flesh eating is allowed, but not preferred. A colleague and friend, who stands strongly inside Christian faith, notes that flesh eating is accepted in Acts 10, but “Christians are expected to strive for excellence”—a vegan diet; “biblical acceptance of flesh eating does not free Christians from this call to excellence” (Halley, Unpublished communication). d. Romans 14:13–21 and 1 Corinthians 8 When viewed in conjunction with Romans 14 and 1 Corinthians 8, Peter’s dream holds a strong protectionist message. There have been religious orders set apart by food choice at least since the Orphics and the Pythagoreans in the sixth and fifth centuries BCE (“Vegetarian”). Food choice was a point of great contention in early Christian communities, as well as between the first Christians and Jews. There are at least three important reasons why

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many religious orders view food choice as an important ethical and religious matter: • purity —discipline in food consumption is viewed as part of a disciplined and holy life; • morality—refusing to partake of blood helps people to maintain an abhorrence of bloodshed and violence; • stewardship—since the original human diet is almost always viewed as vegetarian (if not vegan), consumption of flesh is a concession to mortality, rightly satisfied only through channels ordained by God (Schnall 416). While Acts 10 asserts that no food is unclean, Romans 14 and 1 Corinthians 8 remind Christians of their responsibility to spread the word of God, to augment the community of Christ, and to be mindful of dietary choices that might limit success in accomplishing this goal: [R]esolve instead never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of another. . . . If your brother or sister is being injured by what you eat, you are no longer walking in love. Do not let what you eat cause the ruin of one for whom Christ died. . . . For the kingdom of God is not food and drink but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit. The one who thus serves Christ is acceptable to God and has human approval. Let us then pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding. Do not, for the sake of food, destroy the work of God. Everything is indeed clean, but it is wrong for you to make others fall by what you eat; it is good not to eat meat or drink wine or do anything that makes your brother or sister stumble. (Rom. 14:13–21)

Christianity rejected meticulous Jewish food laws (Hinnells 59). Christian dietary laws are more general and inclusive: avoid dietary practices that might turn people away from faith in Jesus. Romans 14 reminds Christians to avoid lifestyles and foods that detract from a Christian message, including Jewish food laws, turning a glaring spotlight on contemporary flesh eating. This is more clearly evidenced in 1 Corinthians 8. Much flesh sold in the markets in Paul’s time had first been offered to idols. Furthermore, social life involved common meals (Eiselen 1182). Consequently, Christians were often in a situation where they were eating publicly and where much of what they were offered had first been put before idols. This raised questions, which early Christians asked Paul. Consequently, 1 Corinthians 8 contains one of Paul’s responses to just such a question, and this

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passage makes it clear that whatever Christians do, they must not do anything that might cause others to falter or stumble along their spiritual journey. While an individual of strong faith may see nothing wrong with eating bodies of anymals—whether or not they have been sacrificed to idols—Paul notes that they must adjust their eating habits for the sake of others (Eiselen 1182). Christian love requires the faithful to be sure that their flesh eating does not become a “stumbling block” for others (1 Cor. 8:9). Those whose diet causes others to fall away from Christianity, “sin against . . . family,” and in so doing, “sin against Christ” (1 Cor. 8:12). Certain foods are to be avoided not because they are forbidden—they are not—but because these items might turn people away from Christ. As with Peter’s dream, a more general point is made through specific examples (in this case flesh eating and wine drinking). Divergent points of view have too often become catalysts for division and stumbling blocks to faith, both of which scripture clearly and strongly warns against. In Romans 14, scripture instructs Christians to avoid foods that tend to be contentious so that they might avoid turning others away from Christ. Today, flesh and dairy products are foods that might turn people away from the Christian community. Will vegans attend a church function such as a “barbecue” or “ice cream social”? Their Christlike compassion will not permit them to eat anymal products, but I have never known a flesh eater to have a moral complaint against veggie burgers or tofu dogs, or Popsicle socials. The teachings of Romans 14 and 1 Corinthians 8 are just as relevant today as in the time of Peter; diet continues to be divisive and controversial. People are turned away by current Christian diets, attitudes, and general indifference toward anymals. The text of 1 Corinthians 8 concludes: “Therefore, if food is a cause of their falling, I will never eat meat, so that I may not cause one of them to fall” (8:13). In short, if eating meat is a possible stumbling block for others, the Christian response ought to be, “I will be a vegetarian all my life!” (Eiselen 1182). Flesh eating in the Christian church has become a barrier and stumbling block for vegans. Today’s carnivorous Christian congregations, fattened on the flesh of factory-farmed calves and the eggs of deprived battery hens (soon to be slaughtered for chicken soup), turn the stomachs of more compassionate citizens. Flesh eating is a divisive and critical issue for contemporary Westerners.

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Romans 14 and 1 Corinthians 8 instruct the faithful not to eat foods that might be morally repugnant to others—to abandon flesh eating out of love for vegetarians and vegans who turn away from Christian congregations red in tooth and fork. e. Ecclesiastes 3:18–21 There are few verses in either the Hebrew Scriptures or the New Testament that challenge traditional views of anymals-as-“other” as blatantly as does Ecclesiastes 3:18–21: I said in my heart with regard to human beings that God is testing them to show that they are but animals. For the fate of humans and the fate of animals is the same; as one dies, so dies the other. They all have the same breath, and humans have no advantage over the animals; for all is vanity. All go to one place; all are from the dust, and all turn to dust again. Who knows whether the human spirit goes upward and the spirit of animals goes downward to the earth?

As noted previously, early Christian scholars, aligned with earlier Greek thinkers, argued that humans were both distinctly separate and above other creatures. Yet Ecclesiastes states plainly, we “are but animals.” If the Christian philosopher, Descartes, had spent more time reading the Bible and less time reading Greek philosophy to reach his theological conclusions, perhaps he would not have erroneously concluded that anymals are automata, machines made by God for our purposes, machines bereft of soul, and thereby bereft of consciousness, and thereby bereft of any form of sensation. Ecclesiastes clearly indicates that we are not so very different from anymals, and that it is not clear what will happen to any of us after death—except that all of our bodies will return to the dust from which we have come. f. John 4:8 and 4:16 Linzey emphasizes the overarching importance of self-sacrifice in Christianity, but does not focus on specific biblical teachings of love, or how these teachings support protectionism. Christian love is not only central to Christianity but lies at the heart of the moral controversy revolving around how people ought to treat anymals. Theologians such as Robert Murray, whom I noted stands against protectionism, must first and foremost be informed of what transpires in anymal industries. Then, if such theologians wish to continue eating meat and defending anymal experimentation, they will need to somehow

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justify their actions in light of the overarching Christian vision of love and compassion in the midst of creation. Perhaps the most common objection to protectionist philosophy is that love directed at anymals is “misplaced” love. Linzey responds to this objection: One kind of love is not a replacement for another; neither does love for anymals reduce an individual’s ability to love people. Linzey asserts that “sensitivity to suffering is a sign of grace and also a litmus test of our fidelity to the passionate Creator God”; “any theology which desensitizes us to suffering cannot properly be a theology centered on the divine vindication of innocent suffering” (Linzey, After 132). Linzey concludes that an “understanding of God’s love which limits our care and affection for other creatures is spiritually impoverished” (Linzey, After 131). Linzey’s response is well supported by hagiographies. Seemingly boundless compassion has been associated with some of the greatest spiritual exemplars the world has known, from Gandhi to St. Francis of Assisi. Lynn White called St. Francis “the greatest spiritual revolutionary in Western history” (1207). It is an embarrassment to Christians, who so often and so loudly vocalize their central tenet of love, that congregations and ministers alike indict love turned toward other species as misplaced. Compassion—love—is not a limited resource, but a capacity that Christians are to foster and enhance throughout their lives. Love is not a “zero-sum game” or some sort of hydraulic fluid whose volume is perforce static. This is the argument of “compassion fatigue” and it only holds short-term. Long-term, all religions and especially Christianity, teach that one can expand one’s capacity to love, and ought consciously to do so. (Halley, Unpublished)

The life of Jesus provides many examples of overflowing compassion and love. Jesus did not assess the moral status of those he helped; he did not assess the intellectual abilities of those he healed. Jesus helped whomever came to him, and most Christians express an expectation that the devout follow this example: [ Jesus] didn’t say to blind Bartolomeus, once healed, “Now don’t you go ogling beautiful women.” To the owner of the withered hand that he restored, Jesus didn’t warn, “Don’t get your hand caught in the till; no stealing now.” . . . The neighbor to be loved according to the Good Samaritan is the nearest person in need regardless of race, religion, or nationality, and we can safely add gender or sexual orientation. . . .

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“Will you call vile one for whom Christ did not disdain to die?” If Christ didn’t disdain to die for any of us, [how] are Christians not to live for all of us? (Coffin)

Through Romans 8 and Colossians 1 Linzey demonstrates that Christ died to redeem all of creation. In addition to the many types of people (Asians, tax collectors, women, and Republican politicians to name but a few) Christians are obliged to add the entirety of God’s bountiful creation. Christian love is expected to be no less generous than the love demonstrated by Jesus—by God. In the story of the good Samaritan and elsewhere, Christ expanded the idea of “love your neighbor” outwards from the small circle of “Jews” to a much larger circle of people including Samaritans. . . . St. Paul continued the process (Gal. 3:28), extending the circle to include all Gentiles. Linzey is following the logic of Christianity through to higher animals. Perhaps there is no limit. (Fundamentalists often go in the opposite direction, imploding their ever-diminishing circle towards a ring of “the faithful” and eventually just one’s own self.) (Halley, Unpublished communication)

The deity is represented in the New Testament as love itself. Verses 1 John 4:8 and 1 John 4:16 state simply: “God is love.” In this passage love is “not merely an attribute of God but defines his nature, though in a practical rather than philosophic sense. . . . God’s nature is not exhausted by the quality of love, but love governs all its aspects and expressions” (Buttrick 12:280). Christian love is understood to originate in the munificence of God’s love and to connect each of us with the divine (C. Allen 12:214). Consequently, it is not surprising that almost all Christians agree that love is “the paramount scripture . . . essential to the Christian way of life” (C. Allen 12:214). Christians are called upon to love fully and well; love is central to Christianity. Christ’s love—God as love—these central teachings demand a Christian life of radical compassion. Christ modeled a life of love that entailed the ultimate sacrifice: “In the light of Jesus, Christian loving can only properly be defined in terms of that kind of loving which costs us something” (Linzey, After 102). Galatians 5:22–23 informs humanity that the “fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and selfcontrol.” Scripture demands a life of sacrificial, Christlike love, a demand that has long been central to Christian morality—though too often only in theory.

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Linzey highlights Christ’s example of loving self-sacrifice and the original peaceable (vegan) kingdom created by God (Gen. 1). He encourages Christians to recognize the exploitation of sentient creation as antithetical to God’s will. Surely today’s violence toward anymals, intensified and aggrandized by modern methods of factory farming and technology (in a world of comparable health and abundance), are immeasurably worse than the simple violence of Noah’s time. Yet even the violence of Noah’s day was appalling in the eye of the deity, so shocking and objectionable that the Almighty determined to make an end of all that had been created in order to stop the violence. In his book, The Cosmic Covenant, Robert Murray defends eating other creatures. How will such flesh-eating theologians answer the Christ challenge, the call to live a life of loving self-sacrifice in a world of exploitation and violence toward anymals? Verses 1 John 4:8 and 1 John 4:16 shed light on the nature of the deity and carry the Christian imperative to live a life of love for all, a love that entails self-sacrifice. g. Isaiah 11:6–9 Linzey draws attention to God’s original creation as presented in Genesis 1, a creation of peace and nonviolence, a peaceable kingdom lost through the degradation of earthly creatures. He notes that God created all, that all share in the fall, and that all of creation will share in redemption. But Linzey does not focus on the ideal world, designed by God, anticipated in the future; Linzey does not emphasize God’s peaceable kingdom, which will eventually return to this earth, transforming life as we know it. This future “state of peace and well-being” is “symbolized by the idyllic picture of powerful animals and poisonous reptiles in harmonious companionship with domesticated animals and truly spiritual human children” (Buttrick 5:249): The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder’s den.

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They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea. (Isa. 11:6–9)

According to scripture, “complete harmony and peace” will once again prevail on earth; “men and animals [will] live together in a paradise-like relationship, and no living creature [will] hurt or destroy another” (C. Allen 5:232). Violence will stop; there will be “reconciliation in the world of nature, and the ancient enmity between man and beast shall be done away” (Buttrick 5:249–50). Scripture holds “an expectation that God will bring all bloodshed in creation to an end. Earthly violence is not chronic: Isaiah offers a vision of reconciliation, concord, and trust” (Guthrie 598). Psalms and Proverbs also allow us to glimpse an all-encompassing spiritual unity that includes the earth in its entirety. Psalm 148 exclaims: “Praise him, sun and moon;/Praise him, all you shining stars!/Praise him, you highest heavens,/and you waters above the heavens! . . ./Mountains and all hills,/fruit trees and all cedars!/Wild animals and all cattle,/creeping things and flying birds! . . ./Praise the Lord!” This biblical worldview reveals all creatures, humans and anymals alike, praising God. “All creation is a single hymn of praise in which humans, animals and nature as a whole praise God with one voice” (Vischer 5). This biblical vision of peace on earth and goodwill toward all of creation is not to be ignored by Christians, as it most assuredly seems to be among contemporary congregations. “The Lord’s Prayer,” one of the most commonly repeated scriptural passages, reminds the devout: “Your kingdom come./Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” (Matt. 10). This idyllic vision for the future involves all of contemporary Christendom; the fulfillment of God’s plan can and will happen through the “work of all who believe in Jesus Christ and his kingdom” (Buttrick 5:250–51). A Christian lifestyle ought to aid the realization of God’s peaceable kingdom. The “Our Father,” so often uttered, “acknowledges a personal and social obligation” for each Christian, to work toward this peaceful end (Buttrick 7:312), to participate in the “final triumph of God’s will” through daily life (C. Allen 8:115). The peaceable world ordained by God is to once again be realized on earth with the active participation of all Christians. Many contemporary believers dismiss the peaceable kingdom as beautiful imagery that cannot be realized in this world, a hope beyond

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hope for which we are not expected to strive. On this view, most of Christ’s teachings can be dismissed, for Christ was an idealist, as are many of the teachings in the Hebrew Scriptures. But scripture commands: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matt. 5:48). A peaceful, compassionate lifestyle, and the anticipated peace that must ultimately follow, are the actualization of “the knowledge of the Lord” (Guthrie 598). Christians are expected to strive for excellence. Consistent with the works of other prophets, Mica implores, “What does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Mica 6:8). It is the duty of every Christian to assist in reestablishing God’s peaceable kingdom on earth—to abstain from investing in cruelty, and to thereby help restore the vegan world designed and created by the Almighty. This biblical vision of creatures living in peace is central to the Christian tradition. At Christmastime people put up images depicting Jesus as a newborn babe, lying in a barnyard surrounded by well-tended anymals. (It is perhaps symbolic that Jesus was laid in the feed bin [manger] of farmed anymals, where he rested safely on his first night.) This idyllic vision, the promise of its return, and the expectation for a Christian life call believers to change their behavior toward anymals through the love of God, for Christ transforms “human character, and will ultimately change the whole creation” (Guthrie 598). Christians can choose not to consume flesh, the nursing milk of cattle, or the undeveloped embryos of chickens. The long-ago anymals living in a stable in Bethlehem did not mistake Jesus, lying in their feed bin, for food. Neither should we mistake other creatures for a legitimate source of sustenance when we have other options that are scripturally preferable. 3. Theoretical Considerations a. Theos-Centered Morality An important difference must be noted between Linzey’s Generosity Paradigm and most protectionist theories: Linzey’s ethic does not focus on the lives of spotted collybia, banded geckoes, Devon cattle, or the everglades, but rather on duty to God. For Christians, “the duty of the steward is to carry out the plan of the absent ruler. The duty not to mistreat animals is owed to the absent ruler, not to the animals” (Gunn, “Traditional” 151). Linzey’s

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theory protects the environment and anymals from human abuse and plundering, and this is done for the sake of God, not for the sake of the land, seas, plants, or animals, including people. While the difference is central, the outcome is the same—protection. Linzey’s theology of compassion offers a refreshing alternative to most people, who place human beings at the center. Most of us preserve forests and species in order to maintain quiet and beautiful places where we might take refuge from the bustle of urban existence and enjoy hiking, killing wildlife, or just viewing the anymals. Others only preserve the abundance of species for possible medicinal purposes—to maintain the gene pool—not for the anymals themselves. A God-centered vision offers a more enduring and ultimate reason to protect and preserve the world around us. Perhaps “without a truly spiritual understanding of our relationship with the rest of life on Earth, both the Environmental Movement and the Animal Welfare Movement are . . . condemned to irrelevance” (Porritt 15). While we might neglect our duties to others, or even to ourselves, those of faith are perhaps more committed to duties viewed as central to their relationship with the deity. Theology removes human self-interest from protectionist theory and focuses on responsibility to God. “As one cannot praise Rembrandt sincerely while trampling his paintings, so one cannot praise God sincerely while trampling His works” (DeWitt 8). b. Hierarchy “Hierarchy,” when applied to the biological world, entails certain species assuming a place of importance in relation to others. Hierarchy, based on an assumption of human preeminence, is one of the cornerstones on which the traditional Western concept of “dominion” has been built and maintained. Theists who envision a hierarchy often reason “that God exists; that He has the right to decide which of His creatures shall live or die; that He has the right to delegate this right to others; and that He did delegate this right to human beings” (Singer, “Animals” 231). Any one of these assumptions might reasonably be challenged, as Linzey has done, though he accepts a scripture-based hierarchy. Linzey asserts a biblical hierarchy rooted in Genesis: creation, the covenant of Genesis 9, and dominion. He accepts the traditional hierarchy—humans have a special place over (but not against) the myriad creation. He asserts that humans have special responsibilities

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(rather than exclusive privileges) in relation to the rest of creation. He posits that anymals ought to be included in our moral circle, but not plants. Linzey’s assertion of hierarchy appears untenable on five counts. i. divergent creation stories First, there are two creation stories in the Bible and they cannot both be reconciled with Linzey’s hierarchy. Linzey only discusses the creation story presented in Genesis 1, which informs that God created day and night, then atmosphere and water on the first and second day. The third day brought dry land and vegetation followed by the stars and planets on the fourth day. On the fifth day God created sea creatures and birds, and on the sixth the deity created all the beasts of the earth, culminating in the creation of man and woman (Gen. 1:1–30). Based on Genesis 1 creation, assuming a hierarchy of ascending order, the hierarchy would run as follows: time, basic earthly elements, inanimate matter and vegetation, heavenly bodies, creatures of sea and sky, animals—including people, who were created last. The creation story of Genesis 2, however, begins with mists, followed by the creation of man, then vegetation. Rivers and minerals are mentioned before the creation of anymals. The final act of creation is (once again) woman: In the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens . . ., a stream would rise from the earth, and water the whole face of the ground—then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being. And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed. Out of the ground the LORD God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food. . . . Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.” So out of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air . . .; but for man there was not found a helper as his partner. So the LORD God . . . took one of his ribs . . . [and made] a woman and brought her to the man. (Gen. 2:4–9, 18–22)

The ascending order of creation in the second chapter of Genesis looks very different: basic earthly elements, man, vegetation, more complex inanimate matter, anymals, and finally woman.

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Linzey does not explain why the creation account in Genesis 2 might reasonably be overlooked in forming a hierarchy based on the order of creation. If the recorded order of creation is to provide a basis for a hierarchy of any kind, both accounts must somehow be reconciled, and it is difficult to see how this might be accomplished. There is only one point of consensus: if the order of creation is ascending, women are at the apex of creation in both accounts. ii. various covenants The covenantal relationship is so pervasive in the Bible that it is often thought to be the essential way God relates to humans. Certainly, many theologians of the Old Testament have followed Eichrodt in stressing the centrality of the covenant to any insightful interpretation of the text; the very names Old Testament and New Testament bear witness to the overriding significance of successive covenantal understandings. (Gulick 187)

Given the handful of covenants in the Bible, it is unclear why Linzey has chosen to emphasize just one. In fact, as noted by a colleague and Hebrew Scriptures scholar, Dr. Samantha Joo, “the Priestly editor, schematizes Israel’s early history according to the main ‘signs’ of the different covenantal periods: Sabbath, rainbow, circumcision, and the giving of laws at Mt. Sinai” (Unpublished communication). Yet Linzey does not discuss why he has chosen to emphasize just one of these important exchanges between God and humanity. Which covenant is most important; are they all equal? Furthermore, the covenant of Genesis 9 comes immediately after God has granted that humans may eat anymals. Linzey does not explain this seemingly unusual occurrence: How can God enter into a covenant equally with all beings just after permitting one species to eat many of the others simply because human beings seem to have a strong, perhaps even uncontrollable, inclination to kill and be wicked? If Linzey is going to support his assertion of the importance of the Genesis 9 covenant, he will need to explain why he has chosen to emphasize this particular covenant, and how it stands in relation to other covenants made exclusively between God and human beings.

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iii. hierarchy order If there is a hierarchy indicated through scriptural accounts of the order of creation, Linzey does not indicate why the order must necessarily be ascending. Nothing in scripture suggests that God created the universe in any particular order of moral standing. Nothing indicates that the first act of creation, or the last (or the third, for that matter) might be the apex, or might be considered any part of a hierarchy. Even if Linzey’s notion of ascending hierarchy is accepted, it is not clear how such a notion might offer moral guidance in light of two accounts of biblical creation. How are Christians to understand or build an ethic on a hierarchy where vegetation falls between man and anymals, as in the second creation account? How might people organize a hierarchy where one must choose between an ascending order in which woman stands at the apex, and a descending order where the basic elements of earthly matter are the most likely candidates for wearing the crown of God’s creation? iv. Book of Job In the book of Job “God’s character is revealed in and through nature” (Gulick 188). In responding to Job’s heartfelt questioning, the deity offers “a panoramic vision” of the natural world in which Job lived (Gulick 189). God answers Job from a force of nature, not a terrifying tornado, nor the everyday wind that drifts across continents unseen, but a whirlwind, “a dust-bearing wind that, paradoxically, can be seen” and which literally “turns things around—perhaps even one’s assumptions about the nature of God or the godliness of nature” (Gulick 189). And this is precisely what a close read of Job, with regard to nature, can do. These passages in Job belie any hierarchy that assumes humans to be self-important, such as might be indicated by a hierarchy that places us apart from or above the rest of creation. The Book of Job provides four different approaches to keeping humans in their place. First, the “wild ass and wild ox would scorn to bear human burdens or feed at the human manger. . . . [ T ]he great creatures of land and sea were not made to serve as our pets or playthings” (Goodman 11). Many anymals are independent of human beings, and wish to be left independent. Second, God has given wild asses—and many other creatures—homes in the steppes, and salt land, so that they can live free of human domination, free

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from the unpleasant sounds of humans in busy settlements, where domineering drivers shout at little, laboring burros ( Job 39:5–8). Third, the earth was created for all creatures; God sustains all creatures, and what comes to pass does not revolve around human beings. It is written that God caused it to “rain on a land where no one lives, on the desert, which is empty of human life; to satisfy the waste and desolate land, and to make the ground put forth grass” ( Job 38:26–27). The deity does not care only about humanity, and human-centered desires, but sees to the needs of all creatures. Finally, human beings have a tendency toward self-importance and arrogance, which are not consistent with our place amid creation. God asks the presumptuous human: “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding” ( Job 38:4). We are but another earthly creature, in the eyes of God, not very capable, not particularly bright. The Book of Job reminds Jews and Christians that God purposefully created nature outside the domain of human beings—even beyond our comprehension. We have no power, no place in these wild lands. God has consideration for all of creation and provides for the needs of all creatures. The deity specifically set lands apart to facilitate the lives of multitudinous creatures placed peacefully distant from human domination. In these passages the deity addresses the tendency of humans to feel self-important, our tendency to view ourselves as entitled. Hebrew Scriptures remind readers: [C]ertain areas of God’s creation are outside human control, beyond acceptable and proper realms of human influence (Vischer 9). Scripture clearly states that God attends to every creature’s need, even the needs of those animals that require protection from the exploitative ways of human beings. The Book of Job speaks loudly against human-centered utilitarian assessments of creation. The Book of Job is backed by Genesis, where people are placed in God’s good garden to “till it and keep it” (2:15). This passage suggests that people were intended to take care of the needs of others living in the Garden of Eden—to tend creation. This role denotes specific laborer’s duties assigned by God—not an elevated status. People have been inclined to view this God-given role as indicative of a peak position in an imagined biblical hierarchy, but notions of a hierarchy remain unsupported by scripture, and gardeners are not necessarily viewed as holding an elevated status. Certainly, however, those who dutifully tend to the needs of others are viewed as spiritually

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elevated in the Christian world. Unfortunately, this is not the role that we have taken. Job, through the visions of nature provided by God, comes to a new understanding, about which he says, “I heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes” ( Job 42:5–6). Through nature, Job sees the fullness of God and comes to understand his smallness; he then repents of his previous arrogance. v. hierarchy as a Greek concept Linzey notes that “hierarchy” is not a concept rooted in the Hebrew tradition, which was based on monarchy; the concept of hierarchy is Greek. As noted previously, Aristotle posited a hierarchy with humans at the apex, anymals in the middle, and plants at the base. Influenced by the philosophy of Aristotle, the Greek view of hierarchy supplanted Hebrew notions of monarchy and a created hierarchy emerged. “Traditionally, Christians interpret Genesis in terms of the Aristotelian pattern, which sees nature as a hierarchical system in which it is assumed . . . that the male is superior to the female, the female to the slave, and the slave to the beasts” (Linzey, Animal Theology 18). Dominion is thus seen not as a service rendered God through creation, but as human supremacy. Hebrew Scriptures, with an overlay of Greek philosophy, resulted in a biblical interpretation rooted in hierarchy. Linzey accepts this tainted interpretation of scripture. Second, Linzey asserts that “foundational material in scripture does indeed make distinctions not only between humans and animals, but also between animals and vegetables” (Animal Theology 35). He argues that anymals therefore ought to be included in the Christian moral circle, but not plants. His assertion is based on scriptural accounts of creation, dominion, the covenant, and the incarnation of God as man. None of his arguments seem tenable: • Linzey notes that creation offers “circles of greater or lesser intimacy with God,” indicating hierarchy (Linzey, Animal Theology 34). But, as noted, there are two stories of creation, offering divergent orders. Linzey does not even bring up this devastating blow to a hierarchical theory of creation. • Linzey argues that humans were given dominion over anymals because “what we owe animals is more than what we owe veg-

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etables or arguably even ecosystems” (Animal Theology 34). But Linzey notes that dominion in Genesis 1 entails “tilling and keeping the garden,” a plant-centered, divinely ordained dominion (Animal Theology 34). If human beings had not been given dominion over plants, it would have been difficult for them to feed themselves and all the many anymals. It is plants that humans were first instructed to tend. Linzey also reasons that we owe anymals in ways we do not owe plants. But dominion aside, the Christian obligation to love is not dependent on what is owed, but on what is needed, as exemplified by Jesus. Overall, plants require less care, but the amount of care needed is not a legitimate indicator of moral standing, only of time and attention needed to satisfy a particular set of wants. • Linzey cites the covenant, noting that fish, cattle, and “every animal” are included, while parsley, soybeans, and “every plant” are not. Yet Linzey notes that God makes the covenant with “all living things,” and with the earth as a whole. Plants qualify on both counts; therefore, God’s covenant includes plant life, and the covenant cannot convincingly be used as part of an argument to demonstrate that anymals, but not plants, are the proper objects of Christian moral responsibility. • Linzey ascribes special meaning to Jesus as having animal flesh. God did not enter into the life of an artichoke or a palm tree, but rather the fleshly existence of a mammal. Linzey argues that this offers special significance for fleshly beings. But Linzey denies that the specifics of Christ’s incarnation hold an “exclusivist, overly particularistic, understanding of the incarnation”; he warns against an interpretation of Christ’s body “that excludes not only animals, but also women; not only women but all Gentile, uncircumcised men” (Animal Theology 69). It would seem that either Christ’s incarnation as a Middle Eastern male is an important statement, an affirmation for Middle Eastern males (in which case women from Poland are excluded), or it is not important that Christ was a Middle Eastern male—or a mammal as opposed to a plant. Given that Linzey denies the importance not only of Christ’s gender and race, but of his species, there can be little reason to exclude plants based on Jesus’s status as an animal. Linzey becomes entangled in the same difficulties that face all those who wish to expand moral concern to include nonhuman animals: Where do we draw the line? Linzey draws the line between

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plants and anymals, based on scripture, allowing a gray area where slugs and earthworms dwell. But Linzey’s scriptural backing for this division is inconclusive at best, and his arguments contradictory. If Linzey’s hierarchy is abandoned in light of the above objections, Linzey’s Generosity Paradigm changes in a most remarkable way. In the absence of hierarchy, Linzey’s theory presents all of creation as filled with divine significance. His theory then offers a powerful theology of compassion: All of creation is inherently and equally valuable and is rightly the benefactor of the self-sacrificing service of Christendom. Such an all-encompassing ethic is difficult to envision, let alone implement: How do we serve both bacteria and humankind? How do we feed a lion without sacrificing the lamb? Implementing self-sacrificing service toward all creation is a daunting spiritual goal. On further reflection, self-sacrificing service to all of creation is no more or less daunting than the biblical injunction to “love your neighbor” (Lev. 19:18, Matt. 22:39, James 2:8). The essence of a well-lived Christian life is love, and the Generosity Paradigm appropriately prescribes a Christian life of “audacious generosity . . . daring to love all the suffering, perishing creation” (Kohak 170). Though such an inclusive vision is daunting, Hebrews reminds us that faith entails “the giving of substance to the things which are hoped for, the discerning of things which are not seen” (Mascall 40). Christians are called to move toward their spiritual goals in the process of daily living as evidence of faith in things not seen, not understood, or perhaps which seem downright impossible. Linzey’s Generosity Paradigm, bereft of hierarchy, suggests that Christians ought to approach all of creation with an attitude of service and self-sacrifice, asking not what can be gained from each small part of creation, but what we might best do for that aspect of creation in order to serve God. To be a Christian, then, is to feed a stray cat, to water a wilting plant, and to maintain dwindling rain forests. It is important to note that even in the absence of hierarchy Linzey’s theological vision does not require equal treatment for a crystal, a chrysanthemum, a bacterium, a katydid, and a capybara, only equal regard for each, out of duty to God. Christian duty requires us to help all suffering and failing members of creation in whatever way they need assistance, whenever and wherever we perceive such a need. This final requirement limits what humans may do to any aspect of creation, even the bacteria, and provides a much-needed cap on the “advancements” of science. We may not endanger or

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destroy God’s good work for our own perceived benefits, even at the expense of microorganisms. With the toppling of hierarchy, Linzey’s theory becomes a truly comprehensive theology of compassion. All of creation is united by shared origin, through both the covenant and the anticipated redemption. As Christ exemplified self-sacrificing service, so are Christians to live lives of self-sacrificing service toward every aspect of creation. This all-embracing love is exemplified by saints such as Therese of Lisieux and Julian of Norwich. Therese of Lisieux saw the special place of the large and small, including the seemingly insignificant and commonplace, in the world of God: Jesus set the book of nature before me and I saw that all the flowers he has created are lovely. The splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of its scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. I realized that if every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness and there would be no wildflowers to make the meadows gay. It is just the same in the world of souls—which is the garden of Jesus. He has created the great saints who are like the lilies and the roses, but he has also created much lesser saints and they must be content to be the daisies or the violets which rejoice his eyes whenever he glances down. Perfection consists in doing his will, in being that which he wants us to be. Jesus, help me to simplify my life by learning what you want me to be—and becoming that person. (Therese)

Christian belief, as expressed by some of those considered closest to God, places the notion that all creation is equally valuable to God dead center. Neither can this be dismissed as a purely Roman Catholic development; the Christian tendency to overthrow the human hierarchy begins with Christ (Mark 12:10; Matt. 11:25) and is maintained by St. Paul (1 Cor. 1:28). Of course differences can always be used to justify hierarchy. You could say that Therese only refers to different people when she speaks of different types of flowers: While the violet may be as valuable as a rose, and a child as precious as a king in the eye of the divine, this doesn’t mean that a violet is as valuable as a child. However, the logic of scripture creates a momentum to expand the circle of God’s love; once we have accepted that the lowly is loved as much by God as the great, why then should men and women consider themselves better than the rest of creation? Christians are called upon to offer self-sacrificing service to every ringless honey mushroom and torrey pine, every megamouth

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and spotted skunk, every bronzed cowbird and triangle spider, every mixed breed mutt and lonely veal calf, to show regard for each prickle on every thistle, and each drop of water to the very depths of the oceans. This type of inclusive love for God, through acts directed at creation, is expressed in a vision of St. Julian of Norwich: He showed me a little thing, the quantity of an hazel-nut in the palm of my hand; and it was round as a ball. I looked upon with eye of my understanding, and thought: What may this be? And it was answered generally thus: It is all that is made. I marveled how it might last, for methought it might suddenly have fallen to naught for little[ness]. And I was answered in my understanding: It lasteth, and ever shall [last], for that God loveth it. And so All-thing hath the Being by the love of God. In this Little Thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it, the second is that God loveth it, the third, that God keepeth it. (Mascall 49f )

c. The Christian Life Linzey writes that it is a contradiction to infringe on human rights for the sake of anymal rights (Animal Gospel 100). In many Western countries humans have a vast array of rights, including the right to vote and the right to free speech. We do not even grant anymals the most fundamental right, the right to life. Linzey’s blanket statement ignores the nuances of rights that are critical to the conclusion he draws. While Linzey might reasonably argue that it does not make sense to kill people to save anymals, on what grounds does he contend that one ought not to bomb a fur store for the cause of anymal rights? Whether or not we judge it acceptable or not to harm one animal to save others depends on the circumstances. If a drug-crazed maniac is about to kill a thousand helpless children, few would deign to prosecute the brave citizen who destroys the assailant’s gun in the hope of saving all of the children. Whether or not it is acceptable to destroy property to save others depends completely on the situation. Most of us would feel it acceptable to risk harming property— even overtly harm the property of—a violent and dangerous animal (including human beings) in order to save innocents. Clearly, then, it is not necessarily wrong to infringe on the property rights of some to save others. Some, such as those who threaten the lives of others, legally annul their right not to be harmed, and we do no wrong to protect self, or others in need of help, against such individuals.

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Perhaps the current system of exclusive human rights is unjust in and of itself, and Christians are called upon to abrogate property rights that stand against the protection of millions of innocent lives, such as the lives of foxes on fox farms and the lives of cattle at slaughter houses. What would Jesus do? Anymal Liberationists have, to date, killed no one. They have bombed property, released “property,” and spray-painted property. Each of these activities infringes on much-coveted “property rights.” Why does Linzey believe that human rights—including property rights—ought to be protected by those seeking to liberate anymals that people have labeled as “stock,” “lab subjects,” or “investments”? It is not “logically self-contradictory” (Animal Gospel 100) to infringe human rights—especially property rights—for the sake of anymal rights—for the sake of saving innocent and helpless others caught in a web of greed and indifference. Does Linzey think direct action against material possessions for the purpose of saving lives—though there be some risk of bodily harm—is wrong when millions are being slaughtered for food, tormented for science, and enslaved for entertainment? Would Linzey argue that the rights of property owners ought to be respected even if the “property” is a human slave? Linzey does not even address the breadth and depth of this complex question. Perhaps Linzey was closer to the truth when he commented, “I don’t think there are many moderates in heaven” (Animal Gospel 46). Maybe it makes no sense to infringe on human rights for the sake of anymal rights, as Linzey contends, but he has not adequately presented the complications of such an assumption or proven that his conclusion is the correct conclusion for protectionist Christians. Conclusion Linzey is the preeminent protectionist theologian. He is one of the first to attempt to formulate a Christian protectionist theology. Through a careful assessment of scripture, Linzey demonstrates the viability of protectionist theology. He effectively shows that Christians should extend the Christian duty of compassionate, self-sacrificing service to embrace anymals. He shows that protection of anymals is not merely a personal choice, but a duty before God. His theory offers much to challenge historic and contemporary Christian assumptions of how we ought to live amidst the wealth and beauty of creation.

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However, his work is not without difficulties. In particular, an important part of Linzey’s theory depends on a pre-Christian notion of hierarchy that is antithetical to Christianity. If hierarchy is removed from Linzey’s theory, his work offers an expansive protectionist spiritual vision.

CHAPTER SIX

CONSISTENCY ACROSS RELIGIOUS TRADITIONS

When it comes to the ethical treatment of animals, we need to recognize frankly that some other religions have traditions of compassion that equal, even surpass, that of Christianity. . . . [I]nsights from a variety of religious traditions can be seen as implicitly or explicitly supportive of a new ethical sensitivity to animals. (Linzey, Animal Gospel 53)

Studying comparative religions allows people to see moral ideas that stretch across the lines of faith traditions (Kimball). Protectionism is just such a moral ideal. This chapter provides a sampling of protectionist teachings across religious traditions. In the previous chapter, which presented and critiqued Andrew Linzey’s work, he concludes that the ideal moral standard set by Judeo-Christian scripture is protectionist in nature, requiring that we offer self-sacrificing service to anymals. Judeo-Christian scriptures and teachings are dealt with independently in this book because most English-speaking readers are likely to have grown up, at least marginally, with this religious background. Nonetheless, there are other faith traditions to be explored, and I hope readers will also come from other faith traditions, maybe even one of the faiths covered herein. Perhaps most importantly, whatever one’s religious convictions, protectionist teachings are likely to be part of every faith tradition. Spiritual teachings of protectionism have, in fact, flourished around the globe, across religious traditions, and back to the beginnings of recorded history. Organized religions are a force to contend with; the protectionist movement is small, though strong. What person of faith, whether Buddhist or Christian, could reasonably suggest that it is religiously and morally irrelevant whether or not the food they choose to eat— but do not need to eat—causes great suffering for other creatures? Yet the moral force of religious institutions and the moral force of most people are disconnected from the protectionist movement. The protectionist movement would gain both strength and support if people committed to major religions were moved to honor the protectionist teachings within their particular religious tradition. Of more importance, people of faith would gain moral strength and credence if

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they ceased to participate in the ongoing, tremendous suffering caused to anymals and instead took a stand against such cruelty. The role of this book is to present moral ideals rather than actual or common practices. The following sketch of protectionist teachings is therefore not proof that faithful Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, or Daoists treat anymals better than serious Jews or Christians (though in some ways this is certainly the case). This is an exploration of protectionist religious lore, not an explanation of common practices. For instance, the section on indigenous peoples does not suggest, as has often been assumed, that ancient cultures might serve as moral exemplars of human interaction with the natural world. As with all communities, indigenous peoples do not necessarily follow their spiritual teachings. Furthermore, not all indigenous teachings are beneficial to earth or anymals. “There is a tendency in Western society . . . to romanticize and idealize older, indigenous cultures. No doubt, we have much to learn from them. But this should not prevent us from asking critical questions as part of the ongoing debate on animal ethics” (184). Sometimes even ancient rituals intended to show respect for anymals are inimical to protectionism, as in the case of ritual killing of buffalo in Indonesia: Ritual slaughtering, even though accompanied by a feeling of respect for the buffalo about to be slaughtered, nevertheless is a cruel business—the blood must flow. To cut the throat is a necessity; the buffalo should die slowly so that all the blood can leave the body. The animal is stabbed with spears in non-lethal places so as to make the process last. In order to prevent the buffalo from tearing itself loose in fear, its tendons are sometimes cut before slaughtering takes place. (Noske 187)

Religious rituals of respect are “not always conducive to animal welfare” (Noske 189). The water buffalo would surely decline to receive such respect, if given the opportunity to choose. Many peoples who practice ancient lifeways are sometimes incredibly cruel to anymals and remarkably destructive to the natural world. For instance, in the twentieth century the Makah (of western Washington state) continued whaling long after whales were severely depleted, landing a whale in 1926, when there were few to be found. The Makah stopped whaling only when whaling “brought little in the way of cash income”; then the Makah switched to more lucrative enterprises: hunting seal, otter, salmon, and halibut, and logging old-

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growth forests (Marr 25–33). The Makah helped European settlers strip the seas. They sold tons of salmon to canneries and caught thousands of pounds of halibut each day (Marr 32). By 1934 the Makah fishing banks off Cape Flattery were depleted to about onefourth their former size (Colson 8). A few Makah grew wealthy off the sea, bought Western fishing vessels, and hunted as far north as the Bering Sea. All told, the Makah killed 1,985 seals in 1894 to earn $30,000; in 1896 “the federal government moved to protect the declining fur seal populations,” and commercial seal hunting was banned shortly thereafter (Marr 25, 29). The disappointed seal hunters then turned to old growth forests and “started a sales program with their timber. . . . But when the timber was cut, the companies left and the jobs were gone” (Marr 4). While the environmental damage the Makah caused was a direct result of the influx of white people, the fact remains that the Makah joined willingly, even greedily, in the frenzy of killing for profit. While the Makah suffered under the power and influence of Caucasians, anymals suffered under the power and influence of the Makah. The Makah are not the only group of indigenous peoples in America to contribute to the suffering and death of individuals, or the decimation of species, for profit. A Seminole gunned down an endangered Florida panther for the “ritual use of panther parts” (Schwarz 297, 293). Gill nets are “inexcusably detrimental to the environment—trapping even the smallest of fish”; Native Americans are legally protected from legislation banning the use of gill nets, and various groups continue to fish with gill nets (Preece 167). For the sake of good luck, or to prevent bad luck, the Koyukon of interior Alaska seek and kill rare anymals (R. Nelson, Make 28, 112–13). Menominee Indians of Wisconsin engage in modern forestry for economic gain, as do the natives of southeast Alaska—with disastrous ecological consequences (Buege 83). For the price of furs, natives of southeast Alaska hunted otter nearly to oblivion in a very short time, after having lived compatibly with this abundant species for centuries. In February of 1998 a single indigenous person from the Northwest Territories of Canada “chased 162 wolves to their deaths on a snowmobile in a single season,” while a dozen other natives killed 500 more wolves during the same time period (Preece 166). Hunting, even when done out of dire need, entails “chasing, frightening, wounding, and killing other living beings” (Noske 185).

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Indigenous peoples often focus on killing anymals as central to their cultural heritage. For most protectionists, this poses no problem if such people have no other way to feed themselves. But for many indigenous peoples, hunting is no longer necessary. Why do these ancient cultures hold out the killing of anymals as the foundation of their culture when, for most, hunting is no longer necessary? Is it because this was the primary role for men—the role that afforded them power and prestige (Gaard 68–69)? Clearly hunting is not the core of indigenous cultures for women, and they form at least half of every community. This chapter does not contend that Hindus or indigenous peoples are protectionists, only that their sacred lore offers protectionist teachings. In practice, sacred teachings are no better than religious practitioners. Each spiritual tradition offers a wealth of protectionist ideals—but actual practices may be a different matter. “One can have a worldview of noble thoughts . . . but if there is no call to act on the basis of that worldview, then the ideas themselves may be of little value” (R. Taylor 50). This chapter exposes a firm protectionist core across major religious traditions but does not—cannot— demonstrate that adherents of these faiths actually live a protectionist lifestyle. Nor does this chapter suggest that scholars and practitioners within these particular religions would agree that their faith or scripture offer a protectionist vision. In fact, as is the case with Christianity, many defend alternative points of view. Linzey notes that protectionism “appears to have no obvious religious tradition to which it can appeal and in which it feels unambiguously at home” (Animal Gospel 56). Religions are notoriously complicated, necessarily so across centuries, through massive cultural changes, in light of divergent interpretations of sacred lore, and in light of the many branches that develop from divergent understandings of faith (such as the hundreds of Protestant churches, each with its own particular dogma and traditions). Paul Waldau writes: Upon even a cursory examination, one finds that, over the millennia of their existence, these traditions have provided an astonishing array of views and materials, some of which are in significant tension with each other. Since such diversity leads to challenging problems on virtually any subject that believers, scholars, and other interested parties might explore, it also affects significantly many issues that arise when one seeks to describe each tradition’s views of animals. (3)

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This chapter does not purport to prove that any religious traditions are unambiguously protectionist. Each religious tradition fosters teachings and practices that are the nemesis of those who hope for a better future for anymals as surely as each tradition holds sacred lore that offers a protectionist spiritual vision that might help to provide this better future. But many of the less compassionate elements of religious traditions are “cultural baggage”: viewpoints or practices that have become standard simply because of the predominant culture (Waldau 16). Such “baggage” is unavoidable because sacred stories and writ travel amidst humanity, reaching us only through other human beings. “Thus, racist, sexist, or even speciesist” tendencies in scriptures, or more generally in religious traditions, “do not necessarily imply a divine sanction of, respectively, racism, patriarchy, or the exclusive importance of humans, as so often has been the interpretation” (Waldau 18). Sacred writings that mention anymals, even if they are simply recording practices of the time, have regularly been taken as descriptive of how things ought to be. For example, for Christians, human beings are often assumed to be more important than any other species. Is it not highly likely that this view is nothing more than human arrogance, a human contrivance passed from one human being to another, contrary to divine intent (Waldau 18–19)? Would a just and loving deity wish one creation (human beings) to treat the rest of creation as lesser—as we do? Wouldn’t an all-knowing God anticipate the misery such a situation would bring—has brought—to anymals? With this in mind, the following offers a mere smattering of some of the strongest protectionist elements found in the sacred lore of indigenous, Hindu, Buddhist, Daoist, and Islamic religious traditions. Though providing only a cursory sampling, this chapter reveals the wealth of protectionist teachings in a handful of dominant religious traditions. The humble hope is to show that, as common sense suggests, the world’s great religions (and no doubt many smaller faith traditions) are protectionist at heart. After all, wouldn’t we think it odd if the great religions of the world encouraged us to be cruel and selfish toward anymals?

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It is difficult to determine exactly what “indigenous” means. Is an individual “indigenous” simply by genetics? If a newborn Inuit (northern North America) is adopted by French parents living in Paris, what does it mean for that individual to be indigenous to the Arctic regions of North America when, as an adult, she is French in language, custom, and nationality? Is a French boy adopted into a traditional Inuit tribe at birth more “indigenous” than the Inuit adopted by a French couple? And what of an Inuit who lives in the Arctic, works as a dentist, wears Western suits, drives an SUV, eats at fastfood restaurants, and hunts gray whales with high-powered guns from fast-moving boats? Is she indigenous? Is indigenous a fact of birth or a lifestyle? Is it about ways of believing, thinking, and living? Is indigenous at least as much cultural as biological? “Indigenous” literally means native. If we are to take the term literally, human beings are all indigenous to Africa, the continent we all seem to have come from. There are no native Americans. There are no indigenous Australians, Indonesians, or Brazilians. There are no indigenous Europeans. We are all transplants, except Africans in Africa. Some of us have arrived in Europe or the United States more recently, while others migrated long ago. When we arrived is unimportant with regard to the term “indigenous”; it seems we are all indigenous to Africa. Human beings are not native to any other land. Furthermore, many indigenous peoples now live just like other Westerners. Before the coming of Caucasians, it was easier for indigenous peoples to avoid upsetting the ecological balance because of their small populations and because of a dearth of technology. Indigenous peoples in the United States are now granted access to top-notch medical care and their populations have grown accordingly. Most of these indigenous people would be at a loss without manufactured clothing, gasoline-powered transport, and the best in United States weaponry with which to kill anymals that some of them hunt. Many have left the lands of their grandmothers. When indigenous peoples come into contact with those of pale face, history has shown that change is the order of the day. Western influence has transformed nearly every society; indigenous peoples are no exception. The lifeways portrayed by mythology have largely (but not completely) ceased to exist. For example, the Inuit use high-powered

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guns, fast-moving boats, steel traps, and snowmobiles to hunt and fish; the Makah of northwestern Washington state recently hunted whales with the aid of U.S. government-funded helicopters, presumably reenacting ancient “traditions.” Can these indigenous peoples claim to be part of a “hunting and gathering” culture? Exactly who qualifies as “indigenous” is unclear. Taken literally, we humans are all indigenous to Africa. If we ignore this fact and consider comparatively ancient civilizations “indigenous” to whatever nations they populate, we must still contend with the problems of infant adoption, relocation, children born of marriages with those outside “indigenous” communities, and Western influence. Nonetheless, we will not throw the Inuit baby out with the muddied indigenous bathwater. In spite of our inability to conclusively define “indigenous,” this chapter discusses indigenous peoples, and it does so in the present tense. Some of the practices mentioned have been abandoned. Some of the peoples mentioned are no more indigenous culturally than the Inuit child raised by a French couple in Paris. But other ancient cultures referenced in this section have maintained many of their traditional lifeways almost unchanged by the materialistic consumer cultures that have infected the globe. It is also important to note that indigenous cultures are not one religion in the same sense as Christianity and Islam. Christians share a similar history and a single founder. Similarly, all Christian traditions are indebted to a shared Christian history and heritage. Not so with indigenous faiths. Each indigenous faith is an independent spiritual practice and belief system. There are, of course, many important similarities across a number of indigenous faiths. Even so, these faiths are independent of one another. In this way “indigenous faiths” are different from other religions discussed in this section, and for this reason the section on indigenous faiths offers specific samples from a handful of different groups of people. With this in mind, protectionist teachings of indigenous cultures are presented in the present tense, without judging whether or not these ancient spiritual traditions are still practiced, without judging whether or not such people might reasonably be considered “indigenous” in any sense of the word. Traditional hunter-gatherer societies depend directly on the surrounding environment for survival. As a result, they live in close contact with nature and with other species, and generally admire

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and respect the natural world in and of itself (W. Clark, Indians 124). Moral codes teaching respect for nature were central to the worldviews of most ancient cultures (VanStone 122). Sustainable lifestyles, complete with protectionist philosophies, were often built into indigenous belief and practice (Kwiatkowska 268, 271). Myth is critical to understanding these ancient lifeways because myths contain the worldviews of peoples, and a directive for how one ought to live within these communities. Myths and legends “are neither fables nor fireside stories; rather, they are “deliberate constructs employed by the ancient seers and sages to encapsulate and condense into easily assimilated forms their views of the world, of ultimate reality, and of the relationships between the Creator, the universe, and humanity” (Henare 201–02). For example, myths, and the worldviews they encompass, are the core of Maori culture and contain the Maori spiritual vision (Henare 202). Distant Time Stories of the Koyukon (interior Alaska) are the sacred word of the people, best understood in relation to the historic position of the Bible in Western societies ( Jette, “On Ten’a” 298–367). Myth is a living reality. Indigenous Mesoamericans, dwelling in the mountains of Mexico, such as the Nahua near Mexico City, view myth as a living reality; myth is an ever-present truth (Silva 307). Myth ties traditional Koyukon people to their past while governing daily life (C. Thompson). Tales told through myth are “believed to have occurred in remote times” but are believed to affect “daily life and human destiny” (Silva 307). Mayans today still use myth to teach children (Montejo 177). Myth is not about the past, ultimately, but about the present because a people’s “spiritual connection to the Creator or Great Mystery happens in this life, in this place, in this moment” (Gonzolas 499). The role of myth is complex, including such important elements as “education about tribal history, ethics, and spiritual values; oral maps of sacred homelands and information about the extended kin of plants and animals” (Gonzales 499). Koyukon myths are historical records, a directive of traditions and customs that offer spiritual and moral insights, social cohesion, and entertainment ( Jette, “On Ten’a” 298–367; McFadyen 595). Mayan myths “contain symbolic and ethical messages that are passed from generation to generation” (Montejo 177). Most importantly for our purposes, myths define and regulate human interactions with the natural world. For example, Koyukon myths provide people “with a foundation for understanding the

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natural world” (R. Nelson, Make 18, 227). Mayan myths “ensure respect and compassion for other living beings with whom we share the world” (Montejo 177). Myths also instruct people in a vast array of rituals that guide human interactions with the larger world. Ritual actions permeate traditional Koyukon lifeways so that almost every act is an act of worship, a religious act. Through rituals traditional Koyukon discover the Distant Time Stories perpetually asserted in the world around them; life is a religious act ever renewed in the daily rituals of living ( Jette, “On Ten’a”). Myths explaining creation provide insights into how the temporal and spiritual realms are joined in everyday life. Creation is an ongoing process for many indigenous peoples because the sacred is everpresent in the surrounding world. Mayan Popol Vuh creation stories highlight interconnections between indigenous peoples, anymals, and the land on which all dwell. They remind humans that all creatures share in the breath of creation, that all the creatures of sky, earth, and sea are sacred. The Popol Vuh relates how plants and anymals were created before human beings, and how these earlier life-forms helped create humanity. People were made from maize; anymals helped to gather the food “which entered into the flesh and blood of the first human beings” (Montejo 177). The Popol Vuh teaches that, from the start, we were dependent, part of a larger preexistent system. In the Popol Vuh there is a collective survival that must exist between humans, plants, and animals. Humans are not separate . . . [since] according to Mayan creation myths, corn . . . entered into the body and became the flesh of human beings. This, in turn, explains the profound respect, appreciation, and compassion that Mayans feel for trees and animals for whom they pray during the cyclical ceremonies of the Mayan new year. (Montejo 177–78)

The Popol Vuh also makes clear the Creator’s intent for anymals: “You the deer: sleep along the rivers, in the canyons. Be here in the meadows, in the thickets, in the forests, multiply yourselves. . . . You precious birds: your nests, your houses are in the trees, in the bushes. Multiply there, scatter there, in the branches of trees, the branches of bushes” (Montejo 183). Their sacred lore makes it clear to Mayans that they are to show “understanding, respect, and compassion” for all of the extended creation; “[t]he fact that the Creator and Shaper provided each animal with its own habitat means that each has the right to a place and the right to live without being exterminated” (Montejo 183). This means that the anymals of the

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earth—and the plants and land itself—do not belong to people; “rather, people belong to the earth” (Henare 202). Creation stories often link indigenous peoples, anymals, and the land on which all dwell. Dreamtime myths from Australia record how people and other beings were “derived from the same stock, that was neither one nor the other” (Noske 184). Inuit mythology teaches that “humans and animals alike originated from the copulation of a woman and an animal” (Noske 185). Neighboring Koyukon Distant Time Stories relate how Raven created a harmonious universe where all that live both control and are controlled in equal measure. In Koyukon mythology Raven created all beings and the natural universe rules; the role of human beings is to serve nature, the dominant force ( Jette, “On Superstitions” 88). Anymal characters are common in mythology and teach indigenous peoples to maintain reverent relationships with the natural world. “Each story is a complex of metaphors that teach the essential importance of proper relationship and respect for the natural world”; myths “illustrate the fact that all living things and natural entities have a role to play in maintaining the web of life” (Cajete 628, 629). Early hunter-gatherers generally felt a sense of responsibility for the “continuity and balance of the cosmos” (Kwiatkowska 271). Koyukon Distant Time Stories explain how anymals came to have their present characteristics, and how people ought to relate to nature if balance and harmony are to be maintained (VanStone 61). The Koyukon believe that humans and other natural entities share a “constant spiritual interchange that profoundly affects human behavior” (R. Nelson, Make 229). In light of their mythology, the Cree of North America hold that “when humans live in balanced reciprocity with animals, each creates the continued conditions for the survival of the other as members of a society” (Feit 423). For indigenous peoples, to break the ancient ways prescribed by myth, to alter longstanding relationships with the natural world, is generally believed to be extremely dangerous to the balance of life (Cajete 628). Myth reminds indigenous people of their relationship with anymals—kinship (McLuhan 56, 99). The central feature of proper relations with anymals in nearly every indigenous culture is to view anymals not as “other,” but as part of self. Indigenous myths generally offer no separation between humans and anymals; “the division between subject and object, between landscape and people, does not exist” (Kwiatkowska 276). All living beings are viewed as part

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of an extended community, and as such, sharing, polite communication, and moral obligations are the norm. For the Aborigines of Australia, “human identity extends outside our own species”; through totemic relationships Aborigines recognize human beings as animals and plants, “all three have identical ancestors,” and “humans share an essential identity with other forms of life” (Kinsley, Ecology 33). Anymals are kin, and many indigenous people believe that they have a responsibility to these members of their extended family (Noske 185, Kinsley, Ecology 33). “For indigenous people, the environment and the supernatural realm are interconnected. This holistic perspective of human collective destiny with other living creatures on earth has a religious expression” (Montejo 176–77). Koyukon hunters uphold “a code of moral and social etiquette” that encompasses all creatures (R. Nelson, Make 228). Indigenous peoples most often view themselves as just one part of an ongoing sacred life that includes the entire cosmos. For instance, in the Mayan Popol Vuh, “the lives of humans, plants, animals, and the supernatural world are interconnected” (Montejo 180). Melanesian indigenous people view the environment as a place where humans, plants, and animals are each important to providing for a good life. All are infused with spirit, and “the environment is a place of worship” (Namunu 251). Traditionally they view the world as community, where people are “surrounded with creative energies flowing through trees, grasses, streams, and rivers, mountains, sea, sky and all the galaxies, animals, birds, and humans. . . . The ecosystem [is] viewed with awe” (Namunu 251). Similarly, indigenous peoples in India believe “that the natural universe is continuous with the human world of interactions and sentiments. The human, nature, and the supernatural are all bound in a mutual relationship” (Prabhu 57). Many Indian indigenous peoples accept that “there is no distinction between the sacred and the profane or even between nature and humans” (Prabhu 58). India’s indigenous peoples generally view humans as just one part of a perpetual sacred life that encompasses the entire cosmos; relationships revealed through myth are life sustaining and therefore critical (Prabhu 58). Yet another example of anymals as part of an extended community is provided by the Bhima Saoras, a people living in central and southeast India. Before clearing a new patch of ground, they offer a prayer in which the Bhima Saoras acknowledge that they are “robbing” the wild creatures of their homes by clearing the land. In that

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same prayer, they ask “creatures big and small” to “go away with their children,” removing themselves from the area so that people might cultivate a new plot of land, so that the Bhima Saoras will not starve (Prabhu 57). The Bhima Saoras recognize that clearing “a patch of forest for cultivation as an encroachment on the right to life of the other creatures of the forest. Not wanting to clash with them, they ask the animals to move away with their children. The terms they use, such as ‘children,’ reveal their belief that the animals of the forest have the same status” as human beings (Prabhu 57). For the Bhima Saoras, they are but one species among many, and they see that all creatures depend on the land for survival. The Bhima Saoras’ attitude restricts the amount of land they will destroy for crops, even though many of their own children die of starvation every year (Prabhu 57). The Nicobarese, who live on the Nicobar Islands in the Bay of Bengal (east of mainland India), talk to the plants as they pick leaves, begging to be forgiven for taking from the plant and explaining why they have done so. “For the Nicobarese, there is animate life even in plants and trees,” and they must maintain polite and respectful relations with these green and growing beings (Prabhu 57–58). The Nahua (near Mexico City) also communicate with plants and anymals and consider all that dwell in the Cemanahuac to be kin (Silva 319). The “Cemanahuac” is “that which surrounds us”—everything—and every aspect of the surroundings is “important for the existence of any one being” (Silva 303, 319). Like the Nicobarese, the Nahua ask permission before using trees for human purposes. The forest can bring harm to those who overexploit. In the indigenous worldview, “Everything that exists in nature has its limits, can be exhausted, and is invaluable”; everything that exists in the natural world is worthy of human respect—all are interrelated and interconnected (Silva 319). Consequently, the Nahua believe there should be food enough for all (Silva 320). Why would human beings accept that their kin—anymals—starve while only people prosper? The Nahua control numbers of certain anymals that threaten crops, but they do not seek to eliminate these species (Silva 319). Likewise, those living in the Andes uphold a worldview that “nurtures life and maintains diversity. “They do not try to homogenize it for the benefit of humans only, as individuals from industrialized societies often try to do” (Volladolid 652). The Andean Quechua word ayllu refers to “a local group of related persons, and other non-

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human beings of the locality” (Volladolid 641). Anymals and people are grouped together in this term. “It is not only that everything is alive, but that everything is a person with whom one converses and shares, equally” (Volladolid 655). In this worldview humans are the equals of the maise, the llama, the mountains, the stars, rocks, lakes, the departed who are also alive, and so on. All are nature; humans do not feel alienated from her, nor superior to her. Humans are not distant from nature, they are part of nature. Humans feel that all are their ayllu, a Quechua word that in its broadest sense refers to the family that extends beyond just the human relatives. The rocks, the rivers, the sun, the moon, the plants, the animals are all members of the ayllu. All those that are found in the territory where they live in community are their ayllu. (Volladolid 656)

Consequently, cultivation is a ritual for the Andean peasants, infused with love “not only for their plants and animals, but also for the whole landscape that accompanies them in their nurturance of their fields, or ‘chacras,’ which they consider to be members of their family, or ayllu” (Volladolid 651–52). Andean peasants expect wild creatures to share their crops, and they expect the elements of nature to take some of what they cultivate. These experienced agriculturalists plant “a furrow for the hail, another one for the frost, another for insects, because they feel that, as members of the ayllu, these also have to eat, and they do not worry when the frost lightly burns the leaves of their crops. They say, ‘The frost has come to take its portion’” (Volladolid 657). For the indigenous people of the Andes, all that they find in the world around them has its own life in community with people as part of the ayllu; each aspect of nature is respected in its own right, “[f ]rom the smallest cricket to the majestic Apu Huanshan (the protector mountain . . .), all are important” (Volladolid 657–58). For indigenous peoples across North America, many core understandings of how people ought to interact with the natural world are similar. “The essential focus [is] relationship, the guiding sentiment [is] respect” (Cajete 626). The Yup’ik people of northwestern Alaska view themselves as participating in an ongoing relationship with anymals, who are understood to be part of their community (Feinup-Riordan 543). Many North American indigenous peoples did not see any division between anymal and human (Erdoes 389). In short, they assumed that anymals shared “human” qualities and that

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a social and spiritual relationship existed between them (Gill, Native American Traditions 121). For Cree hunters . . . there is no radical division of nature from culture or society. The animal world is a part of the same kind of social world that humans inhabit, and in much conversation a social metaphor serves to talk about the whole world. Many phenomena we would call natural, such as clouds or snow, are also considered to embody person-like qualities or capabilities of action. Cree hunters say that many kinds of animals have distinct families such as beaver colonies and geese mates, and are capable of willful action and responsibility for the things they do. This, the Cree say, is evidenced in the everyday experience of a hunter, who finds that many of the actions of animals are intelligible and predictable. The whole world is therefore a socially informed world, in which habit and learning rather than natural law explain the actions of animals and other nonhuman persons. As a result, communication between all beings is possible, and animals can in their turn interpret and understand the actions and needs of humans. (Feit 421)

The Cree recognize anymals as persons, members of communities, not unlike humans and their communities. They also view themselves as yet another community of beings, not as masters of the earth, but as part of the earth’s bounty (Feit 428). Werner Wilbert, writing about the spiritual ecology of the Warao people (Venezuela), graphically demonstrates the sense of kinship that many indigenous people feel toward other life-forms—and the world around them. The Warao people have no sense of hierarchy, no view of separation between people and the rest of the living world. The Warao “identify all animals (including themselves) by the root form ‘arao,’ meaning ‘life’” (Wilbert 393). (Note their name, W-arao). The term “araotuma” is critical to how they identify aspects of the world around them, and this term “serves as a cover term denoting ‘all life-forms’” (Wilbert 407). The Kuranko of Sierra Leone, an African indigenous people, categorize animals via air, land, and water, placing humans in the same category as all other terrestrial beings (Kalu 237). More specifically, the Warao “grouped beings according to econiches they occupy (in the water, on land, in trees, or in the air) when asleep (Wilbert 393). The “tree of life” that the Warao envisioned mirrored a vertical slice of the earth’s surface, with different “communities” occupying various niches. Examples of categories include species that sleep in the ground and species that sleep on the ground (terrestrial), species that

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sleep in flood-forest pools and channels and species that sleep in swamp streams (aquatic), and species that sleep in tree trunks and species that sleep in the overstory of trees (arboreal) (Wilbert 394). Life-forms were thus viewed as aquatic, terrestrial, and arial (including arboreal). (Note comparison in Leviticus, starting 11:9. Creatures are divided “according to how they live in the three elements, the water, the air and the earth” (Douglas 69).) Humans are terrestrial animals in the Warao worldview. (Interestingly, those cultures in which human beings have dwelled in trees would fall into a different category from most people in the Warao worldview.) Wilbert notes that “[h]ierarchical station and inborn advantage” played no role in the Warao understanding of life communities (394). Instead, “merit for all was vested in balanced complementary diversity” that functioned through a dynamic of reciprocity (Wilbert 394). For the Warao, all living beings belong to the same group, together, without hierarchy. For many indigenous peoples who view anymals as kin, the difficulty is that they have to kill one another to survive. Many hunter-gatherer societies live in close contact with nature, with other anymals, and struggle with the harm they bring anymals when hunting for food and clothing. Myths reveal the troubled consciences of many indigenous peoples who killed for their survival, who killed their own kin so that they would not starve (Serpell 29). Mythology both reveals and mitigates the discomfort of this parasitical relationship. For the Cree hunter, while it appears to ordinary vision that there is “hunter and hunted, killer and killed . . . in essence or in spirit, the relationship is quite different. It is a relationship between a lover and his beloved, a friend and a friend, or a father and son—in short, it is a relationship between ‘persons’” (Kinsley, Ecology 17). Warao violence is sanctioned but controlled, since they do not see themselves as separate from the food chain (396). The Warao hunter “expects to be hunted” by other anymals even as he hunts them (Wilbert 397). Victoria Tauli-Corpuz, who grew up among the Igorot in a small community in the northern Philippines, remembers an important concept that she learned, something like “‘exercise caution,’ ‘don’t do it,’ or ‘have limits’” (281). This notion “guides one’s behavior and one’s relationships with other human beings, other creations (animal, plant, microorganisms), the spirit world, and nature in general” (Tauli-Corpuz 281). Another closely related concept means “taboo, forbidden, holy, or sacred” (Tauli-Corpuz 281). These two words are “fundamental principles which underpin the traditional

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religion of the Igorots and by which every Igorot should live” (TauliCorpuz 281). The Igorots cannot treat the world around them just any way they please; indigenous peoples of the northern Philippines, like many other indigenous people, have long held that their very survival is dependent on honoring these ancient relationships and lifeways. The Kayapo of Brazil also “have no question about their existence and future health being dependent upon plants and animals and the forces of nature” (Posey 8). To assure continuance of the necessary relations with the world around them, they ask permission of anymal energies, or spirits, before killing (Posey 8). Likewise, indigenous hunters in India ask forgiveness before the arrows leave their bows. “Before striking its target, the arrow is supposed to be a messenger of remorse” (Prabhu 58). Many indigenous communities maintain elaborate rituals and numerous taboos out of respect for anymals. For the Koyukon, hunting success is thought to be dependent on the rigid maintenance of rituals and taboos (Kwiatkowska 268, 271). Rituals surrounding the return of a hunter with a dead anymal “reinforce communal relationship to animals that gave life for a community’s benefit” (Cajete 627). Indigenous cultures are generally respectful toward anymals not only because they view these other beings as kin, but also because they believe that anymals “possess consciousness, will, and other capacities . . . superior to those of humans” (Harrod 159). Many indigenous peoples live in fear of the powers of nature, in fear of reprisal, should they somehow offend those they depend on for sustenance. Yup’ik (northwestern Alaska) people believe that a lack of respect for anymals is likely to result in starvation because anymals control their own destiny, and they might leave the area, never to return, if people do not treat them with respect. “On the other hand, if they receive proper treatment, they will return in abundance” (FeinupRiordan 544). If a particular species of anymal is scarce, the Cree feel this indicates that the anymals “are angry with humans and will not make themselves available to be killed” (Kinsley, Ecology 11). In response, out of respect, the Cree “desist from hunting in a given area until the animals’ anger has dissipated” (Kinsley, Ecology 11). They believe that their lives depend on harmonious relations with anymals. In the Koyukon worldview, animals, plants, and the natural world are “endowed with spirits and with spiritually based power” (R. Nelson, Make 228). “Each animal knows way more than you

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do. . . . [T]he old people . . . told us never to bother anything unless we really needed it” (225). The Koyukon consider anymals sacred and powerful—quite capable of preventing a hunter from having success (R. Nelson, Make 231). In their sacred lore Raven created a world where spiritual powers are pervasive, and constant reverence is required to avoid misfortune brought on by insulted spirits (Nelson, Make 240). There is no room here for the marksman’s skills, only deep appreciation for an anymal that chose to die so that people might eat. The Koyukon associate with other animals as spiritual powers (VanStone 65). Just as there is no ruler among Koyukon people, there is no almighty ruler of the universe ( Jette, “On Superstitions” 97). “Nature is not governed by God, nature is God” (R. Nelson, “Passage”). Similarly, the Ainu of northern Japan view anymals as gods in disguise, bringing the gift of food to human beings (Kinsley, Ecology 35, 36). Anymals, in the Ainu worldview, are “powerful spirits involved in elaborate and intricate relations with those who hunt them” (Kinsley, Ecology 37). Cree hunters also believe anymals to be powerful enough to decide whether or not to allow a hunter to eat. They believe that anymals willingly give themselves to hunters as gifts (Kinsley, Ecology 13). When asked why animals permit themselves to be killed by the Cree, their answers sound similar to reasons we would expect humans to offer for giving away food: anymals were thought to appreciate the needs of others and respond accordingly. “The implication is that it is a responsible thing to do as a moral social being” (Feit 421). The gift of life that anymals provide humans is viewed by the Cree as evidence that anymals are compassionate, generous, and deserving of respect, and they respond by showing respect via a series of rituals that honor anymals killed (Kinsley, Ecology 13). These rituals continue when the anymal is brought to the village and sometimes are directed toward the deceased corpse. Many indigenous peoples, including the Cree and the Koyukon, think that anymals, who gave their lives so that humans might live, will be reborn again and again . . . and that they would again choose to die for people if people maintain proper, respectful behavior and attitudes toward such anymals. “When humans live in balanced reciprocity with animals, each creates the continued conditions for the survival of the other as members of a society” (Feit 423). For example, to maintain this critical balance, Warao people (Orinoco Delta,

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Venezuela) must be aware of which biological community they are hunting (aquatic, terrestrial, arboreal, or arial) in order to “avert reprisals” (Wilbert 396). Whether he be hunting or fishing, he knows that his every action is monitored by the spirit guardians and the members of the communities he targets. To minimize the damage he inflicts on any one species, he hunts and fishes in various places. Should he abuse a species by overexploitation or by allowing a creature to die a slow and painful death, the spirit(s) of the victimized may target him and his kinfolk for . . . retribution. The worst imaginable scenario ensues when a guardian spirit, disgruntled over immoderation, gathers his or her community and moves away to another region, leaving the people of the abuser without food. (Wilbert 396–97)

Many indigenous peoples (unlike many Western peoples) focus on the similarities between anymals and human beings. A Sioux elder noted that, while the great spiritual power Wakan Tanka (Great Mystery) taught anymals what to do to be able to survive, they are each unique beings. Just like people, each anymal creates personalized nests and burrows, each moves, sleeps, and approaches life in her or his own individual fashion (Forbes 120–21). An Andean peasant noted that anymals, along with plants and the very earth itself, “speak, cry, dance”; Andeans can and do converse with these myriad others (Valladolid 655). For the Koyukon (interior Alaska), anymals “have a variety of emotions, different personal traits, talk to each other, and understand human language and behavior. . . . [A]nimals have religious natures” (Kinsley, Ecology 38). Yup’ik people consider each anymal, from “the powerful bear to the small, apparently insignificant tundra lemming” to be a “thinking, feeling being. Animals [are] often depicted as more sensitive and aware than their human counterparts” (Feinup-Riordan 543). They recognize anymals as individuals experiencing the world from their own point of view. The Yup’ik mind ponders how people view anymals—and also how anymals view people (Feinup-Riordan 541). The similarities the Yup’ik people notice between anymals and humans have become the common ground for human-anymal interactions. “Even today, the treatment of animals in Yup’ik communities presupposes these shared aspects of personhood (Feinup-Riordan 544, 545). In the Andean world, Julio Valladolid calls attention to the notion of “interpenetrability” (658). Anymals can take on human form, and humans can take on the forms of other species. A Mistassini Cree

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story tells of a hunter who sees a herd of caribou as a group of people. He also sees a beautiful young woman amongst the herd, whom he marries. After he is married “all the caribou appear to him as humans who have a society” just like human society (Kinsley, Ecology 17). Yup’ik indigenous people have passed down many myths where humans and anymals interact in ways that belie species barriers. Yup’ik people view anymals as having a sense of control over their destiny, an awareness of themselves as living entities amidst many living entities. As anymals mature, Yup’ik people believe that they learn how to behave in the context of shared cultures. Some indigenous traditions view anymals as models of instruction, able to teach people about such complicated matters as arts and crafts (Prabhu 58). Some myths relate transformations from one species to another. One story tells how, in times long ago, anymals “often lifted up their beaks or muzzles, transforming themselves” into human beings (FeinupRiordan 545). Sometimes anymals would come to live in human societies, or humans would go to live in anymal communities. A boy who lived amongst the geese flew away with the geese-people when time came to migrate; a female goose came to live with people for a short time, staying out late in the spring and returning home with mud smeared on her face from eating the grasses of the marshlands. Such colorful sacred lore reveals critical “shared aspects of personhood” between species (Feinup-Riordan 545). Indigenous peoples also generally think it obvious that all animals have an afterlife. In the northern Philippines, a central feature of Igorot religion is that every living creature has a soul (Tauli-Corpuz 286). Yup"ik people believe that the mortal flesh of both anymals and people belies the immortality of the soul that dwells within. In their view, all living things are part of “an endless cycle of birth and rebirth in which the souls of both animals and people” participate, “contingent on right thought and action” (Feinup-Riordan 543). The Kayapo of Brazil offer songs of appreciation to the spirits of anymals they have killed for food (Posey 8). Mayans also expect anymals to join in the afterlife. The Mayan Popol Vuh includes warnings against abuse and destruction of anymals—or any aspect of the natural world—reinforced via myths that tell the fate of those who fail to show compassion and respect (Montejo 183). For example, the Popol Vuh contains a wonderful Mayan rendition of crossing over into the world beyond, where dogs help their people to make the transition. A great “river of tears” must be crossed as one passes from

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this life to the next. A dog will help “the human soul to pass across the great river of tears into the underworld only if it is treated kindly on earth by its owner. . . . [T]his river is said to be full of big alligators, and it is impossible for the souls to cross without the help of their dogs” (Montejo 185). For Mayans, the “relationship between humans and animals transcends human existence on earth and has an importance in the afterlife. [This myth] reinforces the humane treatment of dogs and other animals” (Montejo 185–86). The many indigenous religious traditions of the world offer strong protectionist teachings. Foremost among these teachings is the sense of kinship shared with all living beings, and the acceptance of anymals as “people” with personal qualities and lives not unlike those of human beings. 2. Vedic/Hindu Tradition By the time Socrates was born the people of India had accumulated more than one thousand years of spiritual wisdom. The Hindu religious tradition emerged from the ancient Vedic religion, which took shape in India around 1500 BCE, pulling in elements of Indian religion that had already existed for fifteen hundred years. Roughly four thousand years ago Indian worship revolved around nature; the “earliest surviving hymns of the Rig Veda . . . express a sense of the vastness and brilliance of nature” (Embree, Sources 7). Many deities were personified powers of nature (Wolpert 32–34). Ancient hymns honored dawn, storms, vegetation, fire, and the sun as divine (Embree, Hindu 9–20). “God and nature were one and the same” (Dwivedi 6). These early nature deities left an indelible mark on the Hindu tradition—nature remains sacred to Hindus. Indian sacred literature regards the “earth [as] a fitting symbol for the deepest of religious impulses” (Embree, Hindu 45). To this day, “all of nature, all of the universe, is sacred” in the Hindu worldview (Kinsley, Ecology 57). One class of religious texts, the Aranyaka, or “forest books,” holds important religious wisdom accumulated during spiritual retreats in the wilderness (Embree, Sources 29). Hindus continue to retreat to the wilderness in search of the divine, in the hope of salvation, or simply to gain spiritual wisdom (Marshall 25). Pilgrimages to mountains

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and rivers are common (Eck 65). Rivers are especially important because they are viewed as passageways, or thirta, to the divine, and India’s Ganges has been a sacred river for centuries (Eck 64). Along with the natural surroundings in which most anymals lived, anymals themselves were important. Evidence from the earliest known Indian civilization indicates that anymals had religious significance (Embree, Sources 4). Excavations have unearthed images of bulls, unicorns, elephants, and tigers on ancient seals (Munsterberg 18–19; Zimmer, plate 21–23). Vedic hymns are titled after anymals, including “The Frogs,” “The Cows,” and “The Bird” (O’Flaherty Rig 8–9). “The Frogs” presents the croaking of frogs as equivalent to the religious chanting of priests; both were viewed as critical to bringing rain, on which the survival of all depended (Maurer 208). Anymals talk in the Indian epic, the Mahabharata, and these speaking characters are sometimes “real animals, sometimes human beings or gods,” and sometimes they are a mix (Mahabharata xix). “Speaking animals appear in some of the most ancient texts of India going back to the early first millennium BCE” (Olivelle xi). Some anymal characters are noble and heroic, while others are lowly and evil— just like their human counterparts. Even today Hindu readers think nothing of a swan preaching religious teachings or of deer herds organized like a human community, complete with rulers and nuclear family units. To Hindus anymals seem not so far removed from human beings, and anymals hold “something of the divine” (Coomaraswamy 15–16). Hindus tend to be aware of both holiness and nobleness in other anymals. A contemporary Indian scholar writes, “And who could tell what was the store of wisdom garnered behind the little old face of the grey ape out of the forest, or hoarded by the coiled snake in her hole beside the tree?” (Coomaraswamy 16). Anymals are given the benefit of the doubt and assumed to be persons not unlike ourselves. To this day in the Indian imagination there is a unique sympathy with animal expression. Man or boy, gentle and simple alike, telling some story of mouse or squirrel, will bring the tale to a climax with the very cries and movements of the creature he has watched. It is assumed instinctively that at least the fundamental feelings, if not the thoughts, of furred and feathered folk are even as our own. And it is here, surely in this swift interpretation, in this deep ignition of kinship, that we find the real traces of temper that went into the making long ago of . . . the gentle faiths. (Coomaraswamy 14)

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Hindu mythology teaches that anymals and humans were once closer and communicated on equal terms. For example, the Ramayana, composed between 300 BCE and 300 CE, has anymal characters such as Jambavan the bear, the eagle Jatayu, and Lakshmana—Rama’s brother—was himself a human incarnation of the Great Serpent Adisesha in whose coils Vishnu rested. Whatever might be the form and shape, when they spoke and acted, “their physical appearance passed unnoticed” (Ramayana 98). The eagle Jatayu “nobly” fights on the side of the good and loses his life in the process (Ramayana 128). By an “effort of will” he stays alive long enough to tell Rama what has transpired, and so the search for Sita begins (Ramayana 95). Jatayu’s older brother, also a gigantic and noble bird, later joins the search and battle to recover Sita (Ramayana 129). Jambavan the bear is “full of knowledge and wisdom” and provides important council in the unfolding of the tale. Each anymal is intelligent, cultured, and with her or his own spirit, achievements, and physique (Ramayana 128). Anymals also play a very prominent role in the Pancatantra, compiled for the instruction of princes between the third and fifth century CE (probably from stories that had been told and retold for many centuries). These colorful stories teach principles of good government and public policy through anymal fables. “The instruction is carried out by animals and the teaching is all about good or wise conduct” (Rukmani 106). Characters include crocodiles, owls, monkeys, bulls, fish, pigeons, snakes, mongoose, frogs, sparrows, tigers, jackals, cranes, crows, crabs, biting insects, cats, and many more. “Humans and others share the world equally in the Pancatantra, and they are all governed by the same natural laws” (Rukmani 107). Every anymal is endowed with personality, personal interest (such as not to suffer and to be well fed), desires (such as to have bodily safety and companionship), and inclinations to be noble or evil, just or unjust. In these stories, compassion and nonviolence do not stop at the human family, but extend outwards into the larger world of life. In the Pancatantra, in a chapter on friendship, a crow, pigeon, mouse, tortoise, and deer become fast friends through a host of engaging occurrences. They weather trials and tribulations, telling each other the sagas of their past and rescuing one another from hardships. The pigeon is caught and the mouse chews through the netting to free him (most characters are male), but only after freeing all his followers first. The pigeon insists, because a leader always

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takes care of underlings before taking care of self. The crow carries the mouse to safety when the mouse loses his wealth, and concurrently his followers and fortunes. He has learned the lesson that wealth is easily lost, and other things are more worthy of pursuit. Next, the deer becomes caught in a trap; the crow finds him and carries the mouse over to cut the leather ties. The tortoise comes to see if his friend is safe, but as the deer is released, the hunter arrives, taking the tortoise away in fresh binds. The remaining friends concoct a scheme to save the tortoise: the deer lies by a nearby lake, with the crow pretending to peck his eyes. The hunter drops the tortoise to rush over and claim the “dead” deer. Meanwhile, the mouse cuts the leather bindings and frees the tortoise, who slips into the lake. Before the hunter reaches the deer and the crow, the deer jumps up, the crow flies away, the mouse runs off, and the hunter is left empty-handed. The importance of the stories of the Pancatantra reaches beyond young princely readers, offering sound moral advice for all. In the story of the mouse, deer, crow, and tortoise, as in much Indian lore, hunters are referred to as cruel, and it is made clear that they disrupt the lives of anymals. Hunters are also mocked for incompetence, greed, and bloodthirsty ways (Olivelle 71–104). This is not surprising, given that Pancatantra stories carry a positive attitude toward life, including strong teachings of compassion. In the story of the four friends, when young, the deer is rescued by a “noble” man who saves the deer from being beaten by “thoughtless people.” They are beating the deer because he speaks to human beings. The noble man remarks, “All species of animals . . . do indeed speak, but not in front of people” (Olivelle 99). Later in the story, the mouse says, “What’s righteousness? Compassion on all beings” (Olivelle 91). Other stories might seem remarkably bloody to modern readers (as do many Western rhymes and fables for children, where wolves swallow grandmas and are then cut open, or where four and twenty blackbirds are baked in a pie). For instance, in another story a pigeon tells of how a covetous passerby ventured to take a golden bangle from a cunning tiger. The tiger waxed eloquent about his religious observances and benevolent nature. So, the traveler decided to trust the tiger in order to gain the bangle. Needless to say, he became the tiger’s dinner, and the golden bangle remained as a lure for the next wayfarer greedy enough to risk life and limb for material gain (Embree, Hindu 177–78). Here, a pigeon plays the role of sage, offering

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worthy warnings about greed to any who might listen. In these stories species is irrelevant. Every individual creature is able to play the role of sage or villain for the purpose of teaching a moral lesson. The popular Hindu epic, the Ramayana (composed between 300 BCE and 300 CE) features the god, Vishnu (in the form of the man, Rama, who is married to Sita) and many lively anymal characters. In this sacred story monkeys help Rama—an incarnation of a god. These monkeys “were beings endowed with extraordinary intelligence, speech, immeasurable strength and nobility, and were of godly parentage” (Ramayana 98). Monkey society has its own code of ethics distinct from the moral code of human beings, though in many ways the same (Ramayana 111). The monkey hero Hanuman, ignorant of both the depths of his learning and his physical powers, comes into his own to help Rama. He is a mighty and powerful monkey, who can fly through the air, roar like thunder, and wreak havoc with his exceptionally long tail (Storm 127). He serves as commander in chief, fighting on the side of the gods, bearing almost the “entire burden” of the war, in a classic story of the struggle between the powers of goodness and evil (Ramayana 145). He is essential to the victory of light over dark, of goodness over evil (Basham 80–81). Hanuman finds Rama’s lost wife, Sita, and gives her a token from Rama, preventing her from committing suicide out of despair that she might forever be held captive and harassed by her enemies. The enemy then lights his tail on fire and tears through the streets of the demon’s town setting the enemy city ablaze. Hanuman and his monkey followers also did most of the work to build a bridge to the island Lanka, where Sita was being held, so that they might storm the mountain and rescue Rama’s wife. At one point in the great battle, “Hanuman hoisted Rama on his shoulders and charged” into battle; the evil demon is soon destroyed (Ramayana 133, 142–43, 144, 147). Finally, Hanuman perceives the good in someone who comes to join their army from the enemy’s side, making it possible for him to be accepted into their ranks; he becomes the new king once the evildoers are eliminated. Hanuman is a prankster and a fierce fighter, but he is most classically remembered for his religious devotion—his loyalty to Rama. Hanuman is said to be present wherever Rama’s name is even whispered. At a corner of any hall, unnoticed, he would be present whenever the story of Rama is narrated to an assembly. He can never tire of hearing about Rama, his mind having no room for any other object.

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The traditional narrator, at the beginning of his story-telling, will always pay a tribute to the unseen Hanuman, the god who had compressed within himself so much power, wisdom, and piety. Hanuman emerges in the Ramayana as one of the most important and worshipful characters; there is a belief that to meditate on him is to acquire immeasurable inner strength and freedom from fear. (Ramayana 170)

In the Ramayana, Hanuman immediately recognizes the great god Vishnu, in the form of Rama (Ramayana 99). And Rama felt an “instinctive compassion” for the king of the monkeys and his community (Ramayana 99). Hanuman’s mind is “always fixed on Rama” and in Indian art he is sometimes depicted ripping open his chest to reveal Rama and his wife, Sita, where his heart should be (Ramayana 122). (In contrast, it is the cruel heart of the evil force, Ravana, that is vulnerable, and it is through his deficient heart that he is ultimately defeated (Ramayana 159)). It may be questioned whether there is in the whole of literature another apotheosis of loyalty and self-surrender like that of Hanuman. He is the Hindu ideal of the perfect servant, the servant who finds full realization of manhood, of faithfulness, of his obedience; the subordinate whose glory is in his own inferiority. (Coomaraswamy 22)

Hanuman is thus a model for human beings of how we ought to approach the divine. His image is found in nearly all ancient forts in south India, and he remains “one of the main deities in most villages of northern India (Danielou 173). Somewhat ironically, Hanuman is worshiped for his own personal devotion to God in the Ramayana. Hanuman also shows up in the Mahabharata, a second great epic of the Indian religious tradition in which Vishnu, incarnate, plays an important role. This primate prankster is lying in the trail, looking very much like any other monkey, but decides to teach at least one human to treat monkeys respectfully. The man he teaches to be respectful is none other than Bhima, one of five great warriors, who are the Pandavas, brave and mighty brothers: “Out of my way monkey!” cried Bhima. “Get away!” The monkey only opened his sleepy red eyes a little and shut them again. “Go away and let me by!” said Bhima. The monkey looked at him for a while, licked his sharp white teeth with his coppery tongue, and said, “I am ill, and was resting peacefully. We animals are ignorant, but why have you no better manners? And what is a dunce like you doing here anyway?”

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chapter six Bhima frowned and bit his lip. “Then who are you in the shape of a monkey?” he asked. “Why you simpleton, I am a monkey! Can’t you see well? Please, go on home and learn to be a gentleman.” “You’re in my way,” said Bhima, “so move.” “Ah, great hero,” sighed the monkey, “I am too sick to get up. I haven’t even the strength to crawl away. It takes all my energy just to breathe. The unearthly honor of talking to you will probably kill me.” (Mahabharata 157)

The monkey then invites Bhima to simply move his tail and proceed, but of course he cannot, since Hanuman’s tail is immense. “Bhima caught the monkey’s tail in his left hand to push it away, but it would not move. He grabbed it with both hands and pulled and strained and rolled his eyes till he was exhausted. But for his life Bhima could not move that monkey’s tail even the width of a barley corn” (Mahabharata 159). Bhima eventually figures out that the ordinary-looking monkey is none other than a god, Hanuman, and greets him with due respect. Those who wander in the forests of India never know when they might come upon a god in anymal form, or an anymal that is simply a god, as in the case of Hanuman. Sacred lore reminds Hindus to treat all anymals with respect. Hindu images also feature anymals who are important in their own right. Deities are associated with an anymal that serves as their “vehicle and companion” (Coomaraswamy 16–17). Consequently, Hindu goddesses and gods are often depicted in the company of anymals. For instance, Shiva rides on his trusty bull, Nandi, who is the giver of life, and is associated with the lofty principles of justice and virtue. In temples dedicated to Shiva, sometimes the only recognizable form for Western visitors is that of this bull, Nandi. Skanda, son of Shiva, flies through the air on a peacock and has the rooster as his emblem (Danielou, plate 19, 22). The great god Brahma rides a goose, a bird known for migrating great distances, “a symbol to Hindus of the soul’s quest for release” (Brockington 195). The fierce goddess Durga wields a battery of weapons and rides a powerful lion. Ganesha keeps company with a rat that controls those things that are hidden, including the soul or atman. Vishnu is associated with Garuda, a mythical bird (half bird/beast, half man) that represents the magical sounds of the sacred scripture, the essence of knowledge, and who transports people from one world to another. (Danielou 220, 298, 288, 296, xxvii, 160, plate 20). Garuda stands

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on his own in ancient literature, and becomes associated with Vishnu later (Brockington 195). Vishnu is often depicted reclining on the coils of the cosmic serpent amidst the cosmic ocean (Zimmer 60–61). Nagas, semi-divine serpents, guard the waters and are “superior to man” (Zimmer 63). The antagonism commonly assumed to lie between human beings and snakes in the West is not the norm in the Hindu tradition. In central India two men with a stick and a bucket picked up a cobra from a sidewalk outside a temple, while I looked on in amazement, and carried it off to be relocated. At least in India, snakes are not viewed as “other”; many royal south Indians have proudly claimed to have nagas in their ancestral lines (Zimmer 63). Other Hindu gods also interact closely with anymals in Indian lore. Stories of Krishna would not be complete without images of his boyhood, cavorting with lads and lasses, cattle and peacocks, in the countryside around his home (Dwivedi 7). As an infant he grabs the tails of cows to be pulled through mud and manure, much to his childish delight (O’Flaherty, Hindu 219). As he grows older he tends cattle for his family, as many rural Indian children still do. Stories of Krishna’s youth emphasis the gentle and tender affections of cows for their offspring and the complete dependence of calves on their devoted mothers (Gosvami 157). Krishna takes seriously his duties, as do the other boys, and the gentle bovines are well cared for. He is often depicted in Indian art playing a flute alongside a gentle cow. For Hindus there is no clear line dividing human beings or gods from anymals. Hindu religious texts are filled with stories of divinities such as Hanuman as anymals (Embree, Hindu 210–11). For example, Vishnu is not only the great man, Rama, but also a fish, tortoise, boar, and man-lion (Danielou 165). Each animal—including Rama— is a force for good against evil. For instance, the fish incarnation, in the Matsya Purana, is the savior of the Hindu flood myth. A man comes upon a fish while doing religious devotions. He protects the fish but it quickly outgrows its quarters and cries “Save me! Save me! I have come to you for refuge!” (O’Flaherty, Hindu 182). Vishnu, in the form of this fast-growing fish, then saves the worthy devotee from the ensuing flood. When he becomes a gigantic fish, he pulls the man over the waters in a boat that the fish instructs him to make. How does Vishnu, in fish form, know this man is worthy? Because on hearing of the flood his only wish is to “be able to

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protect the multitude of all beings, moving and still, when the dissolution takes place” (O’Flaherty, Hindu 182). As a tortoise, Vishnu helps the gods churn the ocean to obtain the nectar of immortality with which they defeat the demons and restore balance and order to the universe (Embree, Hindu 210). In the same myth, the cosmic snake, often depicted with Vishnu, helps the gods by uprooting a mountain and by allowing himself to be used as a rope with which to churn the waters (O’Flaherty, Hindu 275). As a result of this churning, precious anymals are brought to earth, including a wish-cow, the divine horse, and an elephant—all of whom are important in other Hindu sacred stories (Danielou 167). As a boar, Vishnu dives to the depths of the ocean to lift up the world, which had sunk under the seas (Danielou 168). But perhaps Vishnu in the form of the man-lion best demonstrates that gods, people, and anymals can all be one and the same. A pious boy was being persecuted by his powerful and cruel father. The evil father “could not be killed by day or by night, by god, man, or beast, inside or outside his palace” (Danielou 169). So Vishnu becomes the man-lion, a man with a lion’s head, arriving “at twilight (neither day nor night) as a lionheaded man (neither man nor beast) within a pillar (neither inside nor outside the palace)” (Danielou 169). The man-lion is at once god, man, and beast, and saves the world from evil forces. Ganesha provides another fine example of one who is god, man, and beast. He has a human body and an elephant’s head—and he is a god. Ganesha is the son of the great god Shiva (who manifests as “men and women . . ., aquatic animals . . . tortoises and fishes and conchs. . . . Indeed, the illustrious god assumes the forms of all creatures too that live in holes. He assumes the forms of tigers and lions and deer, of wolves and bears and birds, fowls and of jackals as well. He it is that assumes the forms of swans and crows and peacocks, of chameleons and lizards and storks” (Embree, Hindu 235)). His son, Ganesha, is the unity of great and small, of macrocosm with microcosm, of human with divine, and is represented in the image of the man with an elephant’s head (Danielou 293). He did not always have an elephant head, but through an accident described in various ways, Ganesha’s head was severed and he was saved by being given an elephant’s head. (The elephant who loses his head is also associated with a deity—Indra—and of course the elephant also survives (Embree, Sources 330)). In Hindu literature, Ganesha’s

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new elephant head is never seen as ghastly or problematic—even by his mother—but as “auspicious” (Embree, Sources 329). Ganesha has a short, squat body, a broken tusk, and a potbelly protruding beneath his four arms. His unusual appearance, complete with the uncertainty of whether he is man or beast, has not harmed his popularity. “Not only is he worshiped at the beginning of every enterprise, his image is seen at the entrance of every house, of every sanctuary” (Danielou 293). Ganesha can help worshipers find the immortal and the divine in our own minds, in our own fragile frames. Ganesha, for all of his power, is “gentle, calm, and friendly, a god who loves man and is loved by him” (Coomaraswamy 18). The Indian philosophy of reincarnation, or transmigration, blurs the species barrier yet more, diminishing the sense of individual self while perpetuating and strengthening links with every other living entity. Transmigration is the belief that, after death, souls lodge in another body—not simply another human body, but across species (Embree, Hindu 50). Transmigration of souls links all forms of life (Dwivedi 7). Indians believe that transmigration has been an ongoing process for eons, and that the individual humans we now find ourselves to be are merely “an infinitesimal part of a much larger picture that encompasses all of life” (Kinsley, Ecology 64). Any given animal, whether primate or rodent, at some point in the incalculable depth of eons, was reincarnated as our mother, brother, or best friend. The concept of transmigration fosters an understanding of all species as kin (Kinsley, Ecology 64). Not only is every other creature our relative (in the sense of having been a relative in a different lifetime) but also we are every other creature because we might be reborn as a civet or jackal in our next life. Reincarnation forces Hindus to see themselves in every other living being, and to see every other living being in themselves. Inasmuch as Indians see God in humanity, they must also find the divine in anymals. “Hindu belief in the cycle of birth and rebirth, wherein a person may come back as an animal or a bird, means that Hindus are called to give other species not only respect, but reverence” (Dwivedi 6). In the Indian tradition reincarnation and the condition of one’s next life are based on karma. Karma means “action”; actions determine karma. Karma is a force of justice because “every act carries with it an inevitable result” (Embree, Hindu 51). We are the rulers of our own fate, and we reap precisely what we sow (Embree, Hindu 62).

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Our actions toward anymals are part of what determines our personal future existences. In the Hindu worldview, all living beings are in moral relationship to one another. We are defined morally by our conduct toward nature (Curtin “Making” 71). In Hindu sacred texts called the Shastras, a woman who wishes to avoid the realms of hell asks, “[W]hat action is it that is good for all creatures?” (O’Flaherty, Textual 124). For Hindus, the “pain a human being causes other living beings . . . will have to be suffered by that human being later, either in this life or in a later rebirth” ( Jacobsen 289). Those aspiring to a relatively pain-free future existence ought to avoid even the accidental killing of other entities (Basham 59). The “violation of different life-forms” brings on bad karma (McGee 84). Our fate is determined by how we behave toward these myriad beings. One might argue that karma does not lend one to care about other creatures, but only about one’s self—one’s future lives (L. Nelson 142). Such an outlook focuses overly on motive. For the cow that was not killed by a Hindu, who may have only been thinking of benefits to be reaped in future rebirths, the reason matters little. She will stand in the hot Indian sun and chew her cud, not minding that the Hindu may, ultimately, have a selfish motive for sparing her life. The Hindu teachings of reincarnation and karma lead naturally to the teaching of ahimsa, an injunction of “non-injury toward all living beings” ( Jacobsen 287). Ahimsa literally means “not to harm” or “nonviolence”; it is perhaps in the concept of ahimsa that the Indian tradition most adamantly supports a protectionist philosophy. In the Hindu tradition, the common Christian precept to “love thy neighbor as thyself,” is enhanced so that “every living being is thy neighbor” (Kushner 148). Ahimsa does not stop at the species barrier. Every Hindu is encouraged to practice nonviolence toward “the community of all beings,” “to inflict the minimum amount of violence” (Kinsley, Ecology 65). The thirteenth-century Hindu poet, Jnanadeva, put words to this common Hindu spiritual ideal: “Let universal friendship reign among all beings” (Embree, Hindu 250). Another religion of India, the Jain religious tradition, centers on the concept of ahimsa. It is in this tradition that some people walk with whisks so as to brush away insects that they might otherwise inadvertently trample and wear cloth over their mouths to avoid the possibility of inhaling an insect. Some will not boil water, knowing that this process kills tiny life-forms. Jain literature and belief are

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indebted to the larger Hindu tradition, including the concepts of karma and reincarnation. Jain scriptures note: “In hurting [anymals] men hurt themselves,/And will be born again among them” (Embree, Sources 64). They also share the Hindu sense of anymals as people, with voices that grieve when they are harmed: From clubs and knives, stakes and maces, breaking my limbs, An infinite number of times I have suffered without hope. By keen-edged razors, by knives and shears, Many times I have been drawn and quartered, torn apart and skinned. Helpless in snares and traps, a deer, I have been caught and bound and fastened, and often I have been killed. A helpless fish, I have been caught with hooks and nets; An infinite number of times I have been killed and scraped, split and gutted. A bird, I have been caught by hawks or trapped in nets, Or held fast by birdlime, and I have been killed an infinite number of times. . . . Ever afraid, trembling, in pain and suffering, I have felt the utmost sorrow and agony. . . . In every kind of existence I have suffered Pains that have scarcely known reprieve for a moment. (Embree, Sources 63)

For Mahatma Gandhi, a Hindu, “ahimsa was not just a way of living, but an eternal quality of truth itself ” (Shinn 219). To live a spiritual life, to live a life of truth, was to practice ahimsa, which translated into a life of compassion (Shinn 220). Gandhi writes, “A votary of ahimsa therefore remains true to his faith if the spring of all his actions is compassion, if he shuns to the best of his ability the destruction of the tiniest creature, tries to save it, and thus incessantly strives to be free from the deadly coil of himsa [violence]” (Gandhi 349). Gandhi was, of course, a vegetarian—but not quite a vegan. When he learned of “the tortures to which cows and buffaloes were subjected by their keepers,” he was resolved to give up milk, but eventually began to drink goat’s milk (Gandhi 272–73, 328). Even this small concession troubled his compassionate and dedicated mind (Gandhi 455). We can rest assured that an informed Gandhi would have nothing to do with the milk or flesh of Western factoryfarmed anymals. Gandhi “respected the rights of all creatures to fulfill their lives” (Kinsley, Ecology 65). Early Western visitors to India marveled at how spiritual teachings were realized in daily life. ( Jacobsen 288). One surprised and frustrated visitor noted:

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chapter six Pesticides spell killing . . ., small and perhaps invisible insects. . . . This killing is anathema [for Hindus]. . . . By nature, the [Indian] agriculturist is generous, wanting to bestow on others what he reaps out of Mother Earth. He [sic] does not think that he alone should enjoy the fruits of his labor . . . to kill those unseen and unknown lives . . . is foreign to his nature. . . . It takes some time for [them] . . . to get acclimatized to the very conception of killing tiny helpless and unarmed creatures. (Curtin “Making” 71, from Journal of the Indian Pesticide Industry)

The Manu Smriti teaches that agriculture is not recommended for those of high caste because it “causes injury to many beings. . . . [T]he wooden implement with iron point injures the earth and the beings living in the earth” (Embree, Hindu 94). For many Indians, profiting from anymal suffering is simply not worthwhile in light of karma and reincarnation. Those of high caste in particular will not sell anymals “of the forest, animals with fangs or tusks, birds . . ., and all one-hoofed beasts” (Embree, Hindu 94). Hindus believe that a soul continues to take birth in different life-forms [reincarnation] . . ., there is a profound opposition in the Hindu religion . . . to the institutionalized breeding and killing of animals, [including] birds, and fish for human consumption. . . . [Such] abuse and exploitation of nature for selfish gain is considered unjust and sacrilegious. (Dwivedi 6)

Given the teaching of ahimsa, it is not surprising that Hindus have been largely vegetarian for many centuries; even today “a substantial part of the population is vegetarian” (Brockington 205). There are ample scriptures to encourage a vegetarian lifestyle. “Almost all the Hindu scriptures place a strong emphasis on the notion that God’s grace cannot be received by killing animals or harming other creatures. That is why not eating meat is considered both appropriate conduct and one’s dharma,” or duty (Dwivedi 7). The ancient Indian laws of Manu warn, “A person who kills an animal for meat will die of a violent death as many times as there are hairs of that killed animal” (Dwivedi 7). Raising and killing anymals for food is sacrilegious for Hindus. In India the “wanton killing of animals is little better than murder, and meat eating is little better than cannibalism” (Basham 58). Perhaps the most renowned aspect of Hindu ideology is reverence for cows—a four-legged creature Westerners have long disparaged as stupid and expendable. In India, “[t]he cow was (and is) sacred” (Agarwal). A Vedic hymn, titled “The Cow” is in part addressed to the cow and exclaims, “[L]et them lie down in the cow-shed! Let them be pleased in us!” (Maurer 291). This Vedic hymn, written

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sometime before 1000 BCE in honor of cows, identifies the cow with the entire universe (Embree, Hindu 39–40). Many Indians treat cattle with respect because they symbolize munificence and mother’s love, and because they provide life-sustaining milk. “The cow is venerated as the great provider and is naturally therefore identified with the earth and regarded as too sacred to be killed” (Brockington 205). Indians speak of “mother-cow-love” and Indian literature often compares a good mother to a cow, running to those who are in need “as a cow runs to her calf ” (Mahabharata 58). Some scholars believe that reverence for cattle began as a protection of wealth: for centuries cattle were the main symbol and source of wealth. Furthermore, people were dependent on cattle for survival. But cattle are not merely honored for what they might provide human beings: cows symbolize human responsibility to anymals. The principle of protecting the gentle and largely defenseless cow reveals “reverence for all forms of life. Humans are related to and dependent on the whole creation” (Rao 34). As the earth nurtures us, so must we nurture others who are in need—whether a cow or a Barkudia skink (a legless lizard found only in India, now so rare as to be sighted only once in the last eighty-seven years). “Worship of the cow is taken as symbolic of reverence and respect for all forms of life” (Kinsley, Ecology 65). The Upanishads include many teachings of “oneness,” that all things are “the One that lies behind all” (Zaehner 7). In the spiritual vision of oneness, no living thing is an island unto itself—each human shares the essence of every other earthly element as well as the essence of God, or Brahman. Brahman, in turn, is understood to lie behind and within ourselves and all that we see on earth (Embree, Sources 30). “This Great Being . . . dwells in the heart of all creatures as their innermost Self. . . . His hands and feet are everywhere; his eyes and mouths are everywhere. His ears are everywhere. He pervades everything in the universe” (Svetasvatara). Oneness admits of no separation; the many wondrous anymals and every aspect of earth are recognized as indistinct from God: O Brahman Supreme! Formless art thou, and yet . . . Thou bringest forth many forms. . . . Thou Thou Thou Thou

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the fire, the sun, the air . . . Brahman Supreme. . . .

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chapter six Thou art the dark butterfly, Thou art the green parrot with red eyes, Thou art the thunder cloud, the seasons, the seas. (Svetasvatara)

The Upanishads teach that the inner essence of each living being is identical with the inner essence of every other being. “[A]s by one clod of clay all that is made of clay is known,” so all things are one in essence (Chandogya 92). To know a lump of clay is to know everything that is made from clay, as to know what it is to be human is to understand what it is to be a flounder or myriapod. As a pinch of salt placed in water cannot be seen or touched, but changes fresh water to salt water, so the subtle essence of life runs through all of us, cannot be perceived or touched, but pervades the giant squid, the massasauga, and the endangered broad-nosed gentle lemur (Chandogya 104–05). The ground of each individual’s being “is identical with the ground of the universe,” whether that individual is a mollusk or a bird (Embree, Hindu 59). As all rivers flow to join one great sea, so do all living beings come from separate bodies, yet we are united by a shared “subtle essence” (Chandogya 102). The Mahabharata (an epic composed roughly during the same time as the Ramayana) also teaches of the oneness of all beings, including the oneness of all beings with the divine. Those who are spiritually learned are said to behold all beings in Self, Self in all beings, and God in both. The Mahabharata reminds that “all living beings have souls, and God resides as their inner soul” (Dwivedi 5). Hindu writings remind that any thread of the divine that flows through human beings flows through all. In the worldview of the Mahabharata, the universe and everything in the universe has been “created as an abode of the Supreme God” (Dwivedi 5). God is in all that exists, and all that exists is “meant for the benefit of all” (Dwivedi 5). This means that human beings may not dominate. Each species is expected to live “as part of the system, in close relationship with other species” but without any one species subverting the life of any other species for its exclusive benefit (Dwivedi 5). In the Hindu worldview, while people “have no special privilege or authority over other creatures . . . they do have more obligations and duties” (Dwivedi 6). Writings from the second century BCE present specific duties expected of citizens of a Hindu nation (in this case citizens of the Mauryan empire), including both nonviolence and compassion ( James 504). Compassion is also a common theme in the great epics of India, especially evident in India’s revered per-

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sonalities—those who are gods but often take human form. For example, in a dream near the end of the Mahabharata, Yudhishthira (one of the five pandavas) finds himself in a great desert where he is befriended by a small brown dog. All of his beloved human companions die for want of water, but the dog remains. When the great god Indra arrives to rescue him from the “death-desert,” he first inquires as to the whereabouts of his lost human companions and is told they have “gone before” him (Mahabharata 365). Indra then encourages Yudhishthira to join them: “Come, get in.” “Lord of the Past and Present,” said Yudhishthira, “this little dog who is my last companion must also go.” “No,” said Indra. “You cannot enter heaven with a dog at your heels. . . .” “He is devoted to me and looks to me for protection. Left alone he would die here.” “There is no place for dogs in heaven. . . . It cannot be.” Yudhishthira frowned. “It cannot be otherwise.” “Don’t you understand: You have won heaven! Immortality and prosperity and happiness in all directions are yours. Only leave that animal and come with me; that will not be cruel. . . .” “I do not turn away my dog; I turn away you. I will not surrender a faithful dog to you. . . .” “But I can’t take him! I’ll put him to sleep; there will be no pain. No one will know.” “Lord of Heaven,” said Yudhishthira, “you have my permission to go.” “Your splendor will fill the three worlds if you will but enter my car alone,” said Indra. “You have left everyone else—why not this worthless dog?” “I am decided,” answered Yudhishthira. (Mahabharata 365–66)

The dog soon transforms into Dharma, the god of moral law, and Yudhishthira is praised for his steadfast commitment to a common, small, brown dog. Compassion is, ultimately, the key to salvation. Anymal life, and the wilderness, shine in the Mahabharata. The story line describes lakes “where elephants bathed and flocks of swans and wild red geese rested”; deserts, mountains, and deep forests form the setting for this engaging epic that so warmly describes the rich, varied, and beautiful anymal life to be found in the forests of India (Mahabharata 155): [T]he rain began to fall and all the Earth was peaceful. In the forests of Kailasa, while the rain fell day and night, the animals were talking—

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chapter six the yak and the deer, the monkeys and boars and bears, the elephants and oxen, lions and leopards, buffalo and tigers—and the frogs ran joyfully about, and the sparrows and cuckoos sang. (Mahabharata 167)

The lives and well-being of these many unnamed anymals are placed on a par with that of humans. When a young woman meets an ascetic in the forest, she asks, “Is all well with your life here, and with your trees, and with the animals and birds that live with you?” (Mahabharata 127). Similarly, when the fire god, Agni, is hungry and needs to consume a forest in order to regain his strength, he asks permission from Krishna. Krishna asks if there are any people, anymals, birds, or trees that will be harmed. Agni replies that the anymals will run away, the birds will fly away, and “the trees have their roots beyond my reach” (Mahabharata 81). In the Mahabharata, anymals are insightful and generally stand on the side of the good. For example, anymal cries alert the main characters, the Pandavas (five brothers), that their enemies have entered the forest. A fawn reports to them that their mutual wife has been stolen, allowing them to pursue the thief in a timely manner (Mahabharata 176–77). A snake bites a pursued man causing him to become deformed, twisted, and ugly so that his enemies will not find him. The Naga then provides the man two pieces of silk to don when he is ready to assume his normal appearance (Mahabharata 131). It is through listening to the “deer and bear among the trees” that one of the Pandavas knows that he is not under a spell, but is in his right mind. One of the brothers visits the castle of the God of Wealth, finding “a castle of gold and crystal; the huge high walls of jewels and watery pearls . . .; the soaring towers and turrets of silver and ivory, with clear windows of diamond sheets and sharp roofs of turquoise and lapis lazuli . . .; and the gardens of flowers and trees outside the wall, where uncut piles of gems slept in the shade. All wealth was there” (Mahabharata 161). Because he has seen his splendid palace, and surely wishes to steal, the God of Wealth prepares to kill the Pandava, who discounts all of these worldly splendors by noting: “All these things you have are overlooked by the birds and dismissed by the animals” (Mahabharata 163). Also in the Mahabharata, a red deer, by drinking semen, gives birth to a young one that is of a human father. The child grows up in the forest seeing no human beings except his father. A great drought comes to the area, and in the nearby city it is learned that only “a

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man with a pure heart” can save them from draught (Mahabharata 145). If such a man were to ask, rains would come. They are aware of the deer-man, and they know that he is “as innocent as a deer” (Mahabharata 145). (Though he has large antlers and is the child of a red deer, he is considered a “man.”) When he comes into the city, rains come with him. As in the Pancatantra, hunters are sometimes mocked in the Mahabharata, and readers are reminded of our dependence on the natural world, and the delicate balance that we must maintain with those that live around us in the forests. Early in the Mahabharata, a king shoots a stag that is mating. “[T]he stag looked up at him and with tears in his eyes asked, ‘Why have you done this?’” (Mahabharata 31). For his indiscretion the deer curses the king: “Death will strike you down when you next make love” (Mahabharata 31). And so the king hands his kingdom over to his son and ultimately dies young, in the arms of his wife. Deer expect a measure of decency, even from hunters. When the Pandavas are living in the forest Yudhishthira is approached in a dream: “[W]e are the deer of this forest. Majesty, now only very few of us remain, like seeds, like broken words; if you do not leave us we shall all perish for your food” (Mahabharata 142). In the morning he tells his brothers and their collective wife, “We must move on and let the forest animals recover” (Mahabharata 142). In another instance a swan that has been captured says, “Do not hurt me. Let me go” (Mahabharata 120). The swan promises to help the man if he turns the bird loose, and the swan is as good as his word (Mahabharata 120–22). In Hindu stories anymals all want to live, just as people do, and can be one’s allies when alive, but not when dead. Another king, “angry that a deer had escaped him . . ., mortally wounded a serpent who meant him no harm” (Mahabharata 11). The snake curses the king “for his cruelty,” vowing that the king will be bitten by a snake, and die, within seven days. Nagas are powerful, and though the king tries to protect himself, the snake gains access to the king in the form of a beetle and sinks his fangs deep. The king’s son then uses his magic to try to kill the powerful Naga. A man who is half Naga arrives on the scene and tells the king where he can find the Naga he wishes to kill. For his assistance he is granted one wish. Of course he asks that the life of the serpent be spared, and in remarkable contrast with the Hebrew Bible, the story ends with an encouragement that snakes and people live

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in peace with one another: “[H]ave no fear of any serpent but think—Serpents of good fortune, live in peace here with our dear ones” (Mahabharata 14). The Mahabharata also carries a spiritual message of oneness: all that exists is God (Dwivedi 5). This message is heightened in the most famous portion of the Mahabharata, the Bhagavad Gita, where Krishna (one form of the god Vishnu) reveals himself to a worthy and needy human being, saying “I am the life of all living beings. . . . All beings have their rest in me. . . . In all living beings I am the light of consciousness” (Bhagavad 74, 80, 86). The Bhagavad Gita reminds Hindus: “I am not lost to one who sees me in all things and sees all things in me,” and those who love God must have “love for all creation” (6.30, L. Nelson 95). God is the life of all that exists—not just the life of humanity, and Hindus are instructed to extend the same love to a human being, or a cow, “or an elephant, or a dog” (L. Nelson 67). A holy person (assumed to be a man in most religious literature) sees himself in the heart of all beings and he sees all beings in his heart. . . . And when he sees me in all and he sees all in me, then I never leave him and he never leaves me. He who in this oneness of love, loves me in whatever he sees, wherever this man may live, in truth this man lives in me. And he is the greatest Yogi he whose vision is ever one: when the pleasure and pain of others is his own pleasure and pain. (Bhagavad 71–72)

In the Bhagavad Gita, by definition, a pundit is one who “treats a cow, an elephant, a dog, and an outcaste” with the same high regard because God is all, and those who are spiritually advanced, those who are true devotees, find “in all creation the presence of God” (Dwivedi 5). The Hindu religious tradition contains much in its philosophy that is protectionist, including the philosophies and spiritual teachings of transmigration, karma, oneness, and ahimsa. Additionally, Hindu sacred literature provides a wealth of anymal characters that bring these many species to the forefront of spiritual consciousness—often as equals. Many stories exemplify ahimsa, encouraging Hindus to show compassion for all living beings.

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3. Buddhism The name of the organization People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals is most often identified by the acronym PETA. A friend and colleague of mine, Dr. Fred Porta, notes that the Pali word “peta” means “souls of the dead.” Did the founders choose this name knowing something of Pali? Not likely, but it does seem fitting that this group fights for the lives of those commonly slaughtered, those frequently viewed as expendable. It is yet more significant that this acknowledgment be through the language of Pali, the ancient Indic language of Theravada Buddhism. Porta commented, “[I]t is fitting that an animal rights group, on behalf of the most defenseless beings in society—the animals—use a Buddhist term. Buddhism emerged on the outskirts of the Hindu world, in northeastern India, in the sixth century BCE (Embree, Hindu 132). Buddhism inherited key concepts from the dominant Hindu tradition, such as karma, reincarnation, ahimsa, and oneness. Buddhism, like Hinduism, associates wild places with spiritual blessings and insights. Practitioners from India to China often turn to the wild places in search of a deeper, more spiritual vision of life, shunning places frequented by humanity (Yu-Lan 65). Traditionally, Buddhists wishing to gain spiritual wisdom lived simple lives far from population centers. In the seventh century, the Buddhist poet Shantideva wrote: Trees do not show disdain, and they demand no toilsome wooing; Fain would I now consort with them as my companions. Fain would I dwell in a deserted sanctuary, beneath a tree, or in a cave. . . . Fain would I dwell in spacious regions owned by no one, And there, a homeless wanderer, follow my own mind. (Conze 102)

One of the most famous Tibetan Buddhist saints, Milarepa, is sometimes depicted as an ascetic harboring a deer in the presence of a passing hunter, who pauses to show his respects to the great ascetic, honoring and respecting the deer’s protector. Many lesser-known Buddhists have also turned to wild places in search of enlightenment, and their writings reveal “delight in the wooded and mountain heights” and in the wild anymals who share their secluded dwellings (Burtt 73).

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chapter six Those upland glades delightful to the soul, Where kareri [tree] spreads its wildering wreaths, Where sound the trumpet-calls of elephants: Those are the braes wherein my soul delights. Those rocky heights with hue of dark blue clouds, Where lies embosomed many a shining tarn Of crystal-clear, cool waters. . . . Free from the crowds of citizens below, But thronged with flocks of many winged things, The home of herding creatures of the wild. . . . Crags where clear waters lie, a rocky world, Haunted by black-faced apes and timid deer, Where ’neath bright blossoms run the silver streams: Such are the braes wherein my soul delights. (Burtt 75–76)

Many contemporary Buddhists carry on this spiritual tradition of retreating to the wilderness, or at least to secluded places, to practice their religion. Buddhism arose “during a time and in a place where the boundaries between humans and animals were far more fluid than in contemporary industrialized societies” (Chapple 143). Like the Hindu tradition, the Buddhist religion does not envision a strict boundary between humans and anymals; “Buddhism recognizes no essential distinction between humans and animals” (Phelps, Great 33). Even today Buddhists view species more as a semipermeable membrane, due at least in part, to the philosophy of reincarnation. Eons of transmigrating souls witness that today’s anymals are our relatives from former lives (D. Williams 151). The Lankavatara Sutra states: In the long course of samsara [the cyclical process of life, death, and rebirth], there is not one among living beings with form who has not been mother, father, brother, sister, son, or daughter, or some other relative. Being connected with the process of taking birth, one is kin to all wild and domestic animals, birds, and beings born from the womb. . . . Repeated birth generates an interconnected web of life which, according to the Buddhist precept of harmlessness, must be respected. (Chapple 143)

Buddhist philosophy holds that other species “are subject to the same process” that human beings experience, living the effects of karma from one birth to the next (Waldau 140). Anymals, “like ourselves, make choices that govern both this immediate life and future experiences” (Chapple 144). Just as we wish for “peace, happiness, and joy for ourselves, we know that all beings wish for these qualities”

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(Phelps, Great 44). Karma can no more be avoided by a Persian cat than it can by an avahi (woolly lemur). The Sutta Pitaka notes that one’s actions determine one’s future as surely as “the wheel follows the foot of the ox that draws the carriage” (Burtt 52). Some Buddhist schools teach of radical identification with all living beings—with all other entities: “It is not just that ‘we are all in it’ together. We all are it, rising and falling as one living body” (Cook 229). The words of a contemporary Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, reflect this view of species and the Indian concept of “oneness”: I am one with the wonderful pattern of life which radiates out in all directions. . . . I am the frog swimming in the pond and I am also the snake who needs the body of the frog to nourish its own body. . . . I am the forest which is being cut down. I am the rivers and air which are being polluted. (Allendorf 43–44)

Oneness teaches that no entity is “other”; we are not separate from anyone or anything else. Thich Nhat Hanh writes of the interconnectedness of all beings, and encourages people to apply this understanding in daily life. A human being is an animal, a part of nature. But we single ourselves out from the rest of nature. We classify other animals and living beings as nature, as if we ourselves are not part of it. Then we pose the question, “How should I deal with Nature?” We should deal with nature the way we deal with ourselves . . .! Harming nature is harming ourselves, and vice versa. (Hanh 41)

Philosophical ideas that have their roots in the Hindu tradition, such as reincarnation and oneness, led Buddhist philosophers to conclude that there really is no independent “self ” (Robinson 38). Many Buddhists view individuals and species as mere name and form— outward vestiges wrapped around something less tangible but more enduring, more fundamental, that transcends individual bodies and biological categories. In this view individual human existence is a mirage: we are only matter in human form, soon to be disbanded and recreated according to our actions in this and past lives. The Buddhist concept of “codependent arising” also encourages a view of radical interdependence. Codependent arising holds that no individual or action can be separated from any other individual or action (Robinson 23–29). Radical Buddhist interdependence does not allow for an independent entity, action, word, or thought; all things influence all other things—each being or act is critical to every

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other. The idea of radical interdependence led some Buddhists to conclude that all things are one another in their very essence. In the words of a contemporary Thai Buddhist monk: “The entire cosmos is a cooperative. The sun, the moon and the stars live together as a cooperative. The same is true for humans and animals, trees and the Earth. . . . [T]he world is a mutual, interdependent, cooperative enterprise” (Swearer 5). When Buddhism traveled to China, it combined with Daoism to form some extraordinarily nature-friendly spiritual teachings. One of the most nature-friendly extant religious philosophies, Hua-yen, is a school of Chinese Buddhism formed around 600 CE. Hua-yen carried “codependent arising” to its logical extreme. In the Hua-yen worldview all things are reflected in all other things, as in an infinitely regressing mirror that encompasses the entire universe in “simultaneous mutual identity and mutual intercausality” (Cook 214). Nothing is independent in this “vast web of interdependencies in which if one strand is disturbed, the whole web is shaken” (Cook 213). For example, we know that without the sun we could not live as we currently live. Similarly, but on a different scale, neither can we live as we now live if a small flea is knocked from the side of a kitten in a village in northern Malaysia. All is changed by any slight change; the ripple effect is unending and all encompassing because all things are interconnected. If a roadrunner is squashed under the tires of a truck carrying the breast milk of cattle to Phoenix, Arizona, this event affects all other living entities. Radical Buddhist interdependence indicates that cruelty and exploitation are counterproductive because harming one entity harms all that exists, including oneself. Also in China, the influential T’ien T’ai Buddhist school teaches that all things are contained in one moment and one moment contains all things. This combination of single and universal in one unity culminated in the concept of “Buddha-Nature” (deBary 156–57). “Buddha-Nature” is nirvana in samsara—it is the mundane in perfection, the Buddha in each of us and in every living thing. “BuddhaNature” is the inherent perfection of each thing as it naturally is. All things have “Buddha-Nature,” and to acknowledge this quality in all things is to realize that all things are perfect in their essence, just as they are. The T’ien T’ai spiritual seeker is encouraged to understand that each thing—everything—has inherent value, and that one can learn spiritual truths from every aspect of the physical world, the mighty Western red cedar and the little winter polypore, the exquis-

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ite tamandua, and the now-extinct (but once-exquisite) tarpan (who had the misfortune of depending on grazing lands that were much coveted by human beings). When Chinese Buddhism reached Japan, anymal and naturefriendly teachings were accepted, fostered, and enhanced. The great Japanese Buddhist philosopher, Dogen (1200–1253), taught that the splendors of nature hold the essence of enlightenment, and that spiritual ideas themselves are “the entire universe, mountains and rivers, and the great wide earth, plants and trees” (Curtin, “Dogen” 198; Swearer 15). The Buddhist tradition, as it traveled across cultures, viewed the entire physical world as holding spiritual significance. Teachings such as that of Buddha-Nature and radical interdependence encourage people to view anymals as important rather than as lesser or “other.” Simultaneously, these teachings deflate human pride by denying the existence of the individual self. Buddhist philosophy elevated nature while diminishing the worldly importance of the individual Buddhist practitioner. Buddhism also teaches ahimsa, including uniquely Buddhist expressions of this universal moral ideal, such as metta (loving-kindness) and karuna (compassion). Anymal rights activist and Buddhist Norm Phelps writes, “Compassion becomes real when it becomes active in the world” (Great 162). Buddhist literature features prominent injunctions not to kill anymals (Waldau 136). Given the Buddhist understanding of oneness, no creature lies outside of Buddhist morality or beyond the concern of a practicing Buddhist (Martin 99). Buddhist moral conduct is “built on the vast conception of universal love and compassion for all living beings” (Rahula 46). Nonviolence, lovingkindness, and compassion are applied to human beings and anymals alike (Kraft 277). The Bodhicharyavatara of Shantideva (circa 600 CE), encourages Buddhist practitioners to recognize that “fellow-creatures are the same as him[or her]self. ‘All have the same sorrows, the same joys as I, and I must guard them like myself ’” (Burtt 139). “There is never a hint in Buddhist teachings that intellectual ability, a sophisticated sense of self, or any characteristic beyond the ability to suffer is relevant to moral standing” (Phelps, Great 40). The Dhammapada, a popular and important text in the Buddhist canon, teaches that those who follow the Buddha will, “ever by night and day,” “find joy in love for all beings” (78). The practitioner does not just find joy for self, or love for other people but for “all beings.” For a Buddhist practitioner, compassion is a “feeling that suffers all

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the agonies and torments” of every sentient creature, and an understanding that harm done to others is harm done to oneself, for we are all one, and we are bound by karma (Kushner 148f ). The Buddha instructed followers to exhibit “an unlimited selfgiving compassion flowing freely toward all creatures that live” (Burtt 46). “Indeed, Buddhists see this orientation to the suffering of others as a sine qua non of ethical life” (Waldau 138). The virtue of compassion is “one of the indispensable conditions for deliverance” (Kushner 148f ); the Dali Lama has often stated that loving-kindness is his religion (Gyatso 8). The Dhammapada plainly states that it is those who “hurt no living being” who will reach nirvana (Dhammapada 68), and that a truly great person is not one who succeeds in worldly matters, but one who “hurts not any living being” (74). Similarly, the Buddhist Sutta-Nipata includes the following, often translated as the hymn of love: may all be blessed with peace always; all creatures weak or strong, all creatures great and small; creatures unseen or seen dwelling afar or near, born or awaiting birth, —may all be blessed with peace! . . . as with her own life a mother shields from hurt her own, her only, child,— let all-embracing thoughts for all that lives be thine, —an all-embracing love for all the universe. (Burtt 46–47)

These high moral ideals are not expected only of monks and saints. “For Buddhists, ahimsa, or noninjury, is an ethical goal for monks and laypersons alike” (Shinn 219). Buddhists are encouraged to choose their livelihood so as to avoid any harm to living beings (Rahula 47). It would be unthinkable for most Buddhists to capitalize on factory farming of any kind, as it would be unthinkable for them to run a business exploiting the cheap labor of poor children or to earn their living as soldiers. Even keeping anymals in captivity is recognized in the Dhammapada as contrary to teachings of loving-kindness, for the captive elephant “remembers the elephant grove” (81). Those

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who successfully travel the Buddhist path will be filled with mercy, living a life that is “compassionate and kind to all creatures that have life” (Burtt 104). Buddhist writings also warn that “meat-eating in any form or manner and in any circumstances is prohibited, unconditionally and once and for all” (deBary 91–92). While many contemporary Buddhists eat meat today, it is clear from Buddhist teachings that the moral ideal is to reduce suffering —flesh eating (as well as drinking the nursing milk of factory-farmed anymals) fosters massive amounts of misery amongst millions of anymals. “If we are fully and genuinely mindful in our eating, we will not allow our choice of foods to bring needless suffering and death to living beings. . . . The correct question is not, ‘Should I be a vegetarian?’ but ‘Should I participate in the unnecessary killing of sentient beings?’ . . . It is not about us; it is about the animals. A vegan lifestyle is not a dogma, it is an essential element of Buddhist compassion” (Phelps, Great 127, 137, 141). For the Buddhist, good conduct requires “putting away the killing of living things” and holding “aloof from the destruction of life” (Burtt 104). In the Dhammapada it is written: All beings tremble before danger, all fear death. When a man considers this, he does not kill or cause to kill. All beings fear before danger, life is dear to all. When a man considers this, he does not kill or cause to kill. He who for the sake of happiness hurts others who also want happiness, shall not hereafter find happiness. He who for the sake of happiness does not hurt others who also want happiness, shall hereafter find happiness. (Dhammapada 54)

Those who take on the Buddhist life turn to love made infinite, vowing, “With all am I a friend, comrade to all/And to all creatures kind and merciful” (Burtt 79). Amongst the important and early Buddhist writings that form the Sutta Pitaka, our moral responsibility not to cause anymals to be slaughtered is acknowledged by the Buddha. He is said to have described a worthy and enlightened human not by caste, but by actions, more specifically, one who does not hurt any creatures, “whether feeble or strong, does not kill nor cause slaughter” (Burtt 71). To cause another to be harmed is spiritually problematic in the Buddhist tradition. It matters little who kills the turkey; the one who buys the dead bird causes another to be raised and killed and has therefore caused unnecessary suffering.

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Buddhist philosophy teaches that a flesh eater can no more avoid the karma that results from such unnecessarily harmful actions than one can escape the dirtying effects of dust they have thrown into the wind. Those who seek happiness in this life but cause misery to other beings “will not find happiness after death” (Burtt 59). In a restaurant in Dharmsala, India, a Tibetan Buddhist restaurant owner carried a live-trapped rat from his restaurant, away to a new life in the thick forests of northern India while I was eating my breakfast. The first, and most fundamental Buddhist precept warns followers “to refrain from killing living beings”—not just human beings, but all living beings (Robinson 77). This proscription against harming anymals “is central to the Buddhist tradition. Indeed, it is in fact one of the few common features across the vast Buddhist tradition and its many sects, strands, and branches” (Waldau 143). The Buddhist moral obligation to show concern for other life forms is “a significant, indeed a radical, message,” particularly given that Buddhist lands included anymals who posed a threat to human beings (Waldau 123). Whether a cow or a viper, Buddhist morality teaches practitioners not to harm other sentient beings. Buddhism is often divided into major schools of thought, including Mahayana and Theravada traditions. Practitioners and spiritual beings of the Mahayana Buddhist tradition, called bodhisattvas, commit themselves to the task of saving all creatures from the suffering entailed in life, death, and rebirth (deBary 81–82). [C]ompassion is given an especially prominent place in the Mahayana branch of the Buddhist tradition by virtue of its association with the central ideal of the bodhisattva, although concern for living things is conceptually no less central in the Theravadin branch. The bodhisattva is known, and even defined, by his or her commitment to the salvation of other beings. (Waldau 138)

Bodhisattvas vow to return to the earth again and again through reincarnation, rather than disappear into nirvana. They come back to suffer the trials and tribulations of life in order to help every individual of every species to escape from ongoing suffering and rebirth (deBary 81). As the sun illuminates the entire earth, while a glowworm offers only a tiny spot of light, so the bodhisattva is able to light the way to nirvana for “countless beings” (Burtt 130–31). A bodhisattva thinks: “As many beings as there are in the universe of beings,” with or without form, with or without perception, “all these

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I must lead to Nirvana” (Conze 164). Buddhist sutras explain a bodhisattva’s commitment: A Bodhisattva resolves: I take upon myself the burden of all suffering, I am resolved to do so, I will endure it. I do not turn or run away, do not tremble, am not terrified, nor afraid, do not turn back or despond. And why? At all costs I must bear the burdens of all beings. In that I do not follow my own inclinations. I have made the vow to save all beings. All beings I must set free. The whole world of living beings I must rescue, from the terrors of birth, of old age, of sickness, of death and rebirth, of all kinds of moral offence, of all states of woe, of the whole cycle of birth-and-death . . . from all these terrors I must rescue all beings. . . . I must rescue all these beings from the stream of Samsara, which is so difficult to cross; I must pull them back from the great precipice, I must free them from all calamities, I must ferry them across the stream of Samsara. I myself must grapple with the whole mass of suffering of all beings. (Burtt 133)

Anymals have a high profile in the ancient and foundational Buddhist Pali Canon, as well as in extracanonical writings (Waldau 149). Buddhist animal tales “illustrate and underscore the position that life from one form to the next is continuous,” through reincarnation (Chapple 143). For example, the Buddhist Jataka is in many ways similar to the Hindu Pancatantra; both collections stem from the same ancient sources. Jataka tales tell of the Buddha’s past incarnations. These entertaining stories feature animals of every kind, including humans. Anymals are not incidental to Jataka story lines; they are primary, and are “presented with remarkable detail and accuracy” (Chapple 143). This menagerie of stories includes such diverse creatures as a crow, jackal, snake, swan, quail, horse, goose, tortoise, boar, cuckoo, pigeon, woodpecker, chameleon, chicken, mongoose, mosquito, otter, shrew, beetle, osprey, and many more. Numerically, the most important anymals in these tales are monkeys, who appear in twenty-seven stories, followed by elephants (twenty-four), jackals (twenty), lions (nineteen), and crows (seventeen). In all there are seventy different anymals in the Jataka, many acting as central characters in the stories in which they appear (Chapple 134, 145–46). Jataka stories reveal “the essence of the Buddhist attitude brought to life—the attitude of universal compassion . . . flowing from the knowledge of inner oneness” (Martin 98). In many Jataka tales anymals are cast as the Buddha in past lives, each one demonstrating

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self-sacrificing generosity “for the benefit of all living beings” (Martin 98). For example, one Jataka reveals the Buddha in a former life as Prince Mahasattva, who comes upon a hungry tigress that is too weak to hunt for her offspring. She and her little ones are on the edge of death, and the bodhisattva comments, “Holy men are born of pity and compassion.” Prince Mahasattva then offers his own body that the tigress and her young might live (Conze 24–26). As in many of the Jataka tales, the message is one of compassion, and readers know that Prince Mahasattva is eventually reincarnated (due to good karma) as Siddhartha Gotama—the Buddha. Jataka tales instruct Buddhists to live mindfully—with an awareness of the likely effects of each and every action. In many Jataka stories anymals “set an example” for humans and also “deepen the threads of human experience” (Chapple 135, 144). For example, Jataka anymals exhibit “compassionate and often heroic self-giving” (Martin 97). One story tells of a monkey who saves his followers and community by using his body as a bridge to form an escape route. The monkey’s back is broken, but his companions are safe. An observer comments to the monkey: “It is not your sword which makes you a king; it is love alone” (Khan 18). In a third story, the Buddha appears as a deer who offers his life to a hunter instead of allowing the mother of a young fawn to be killed. The hunter, who happens to be king of the realm, impressed by the deer, spares his life, and then inquires after the lives of the other deer and all four-footed anymals, birds, and fish. In each case the Buddha (in deer form) pleads for their lives, discouraging the king from eating other creatures. Because of the Buddha-deer’s efforts, “Love had entered into the heart of the King,” and he ceased to hunt and kill anymals so that “all the living creatures in his realm were happy ever after” (Khan 33). In Jataka tales the Buddha offers his body both as rabbit and elephant so that starving people might eat. The rabbit flung himself into a fire to be cooked while the elephant ran off a cliff to land at the feet of those who needed food. Such stories remind readers that there is a difference between those who have nothing to eat except dead anymals, and those who choose to kill for food. Stories of self-sacrificing compassion, stories of the Buddha in earlier lives, also remind readers and listeners that the Buddha has been in many forms, as have all living beings, and that each living entity is capable of respectful and compassionate actions toward others. No anymal is too insignificant or “undesirable” to have housed

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the karmic presence of the Buddha in his previous existences, or to be morally considerable. Jataka tales remind listeners that anymals are an integral part of our shared world, subject to the same moral laws (Waldau 150). As noted, karma rules the lives of anymals and humans alike (Kraft 277): Lassie and the Prince of Wales are both subject to the same moral law. Those who read stories of the Jataka are helped to envision a deeper, closer connection with other life-forms. In the Jataka, “animals have their own lives, their own karma, tests, purposes, and aspirations. And, as often brief and painful as their lives may be, they are also graced with a purity and a clarity which we can only humbly respect, and perhaps even occasionally envy” (Martin 100). It is not surprising that anymal voices in the Jataka speak out against harming other species, against anymal sacrifice, and against hunting and eating anymals (Chapple 135–38). A contemporary Buddhist, reflecting on the Jataka, noted: Was not the Buddha a hare? a quail? a monkey, a lion, a deer or ox? Who is to say that the dog guarding our porch or the cat twining around our legs is not a Bodhisattva . . .? Entering the market one sees live rabbits and chickens and turkeys for sale. And one wonders, “Why are they here?” and is torn. “Should I buy them all? How can I save them?” For in the Jatakas one has seen that their inner life is the same as our own. One seeks to save them all, and they too, looking out at us with black or with golden shining eyes, yearn only to liberate us. (Martin 100)

Through the lives of anymals, Jataka tales encourage aspirants to follow the compassionate path of the Buddha, to see anymals as individuals worthy of moral consideration. A Tibetan folktale about a frog reveals the strong influence of Buddhist morality permeating Tibetan Buddhist culture. In this story a frog begs an old widow to adopt him as her son. After several days, she finally agrees and quickly comes to love the frog. The frog proceeds to hop off to find himself the most beautiful young woman in the area. The young woman’s family is mortified at the thought of their only child, their beloved daughter, marrying a frog. The frog reminds the reticent people that “[h]uman beings, animals, birds, even frogs” are all “of the same spiritual force” (Hyde-Chambers 177). But a frog as a son-in-law is a hard sell, and they offer the frog anything else he might want. He again offers a Buddhist rationale: “Can you not see that all beings, human or animal, are the same?”

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(Hyde-Chambers 180). He resorts to causing a series of disruptive events, revealing his powers, to finally convince the parents to let them marry. Once he wins the daughter from her parents, he must work to gain the young woman’s heart. She is dreadfully disappointed in her marital match, and at her father’s instruction, tries to kill the frog on their way to his home. She makes three attempts on the frog’s life, and the frog patiently returns her weapons, saying, “Remember that we are all one” (Hyde-Chambers 180). Eventually the frog does win her heart, and consistent with Western folklore, she discovers him to be a handsome young man wearing a magic frog skin. But the moral of the story bears no resemblance to that of Western lore: “[A]ll things differ only in their ‘skin’. . . . [A]ll are really one nature” (Hyde-Chambers 186). Like other major faiths, Buddhism is a practical religion aimed specifically at salvation. Buddhist teachings are to be enacted in daily life if devotees are to avoid ill affects in future lives. Thus King Ashoka, best known of Buddhist kings, was not only concerned with his human subjects, but also with the welfare of anymals in his kingdom (Harris 386). He “famously attempted to integrate the First Precept [not to kill (or harm)] into his rule”; texts “posted around his large realm testify again and again to a respect for the lives of other animals” (Waldau 143). His Buddhist compassion was not an isolated incident, but part of a larger Buddhist tendency to protect and nurture anymals. China’s “Liang emperor, Wu Ti (502–550), is said to have fed fish held in a monastery pond as part of his Buddhist devotions, while, in 759, the T’ang emperor is reported to have donated a substantial sum toward the construction of eighty-one such ponds . . . for the preservation of animal life” (Harris 386). Nor is this phenomenon merely part of Buddhism’s history, or a luxury of royalty. “[A]s late as the mid-1930s, the National Buddhist Association broadcast radio lectures on the need for animal protection” (Harris 386). Some Buddhists continue to honor “animal day” (Harris 386). In 1280 in Japan, by order of the Shogun, the people of Japan were prohibited from killing anymals for a two-week period prior to national “animal day.” The core of this Buddhist holy day entails releasing captive anymals, such as fish or birds, back into the wild (D. Williams 149). Rooted in Buddhist texts, this annual celebration encourages practitioners to “work for the liberation of living beings . . ., practice liberation of living beings . . ., and cause others to do so” because we are all related to every other being through the ongoing process

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of birth, death, and rebirth (Bommyokyo 150). At this time of year, if Buddhists witness anymals being harmed, they “must by proper means save and protect them from misery and danger” (Bommyokyo 150). And they do. It is recorded in 1017 that a courtier noted two men fishing along the Kamo River, purchased and released the fish that had been caught on the annual day of releasing captive anymals (D. Williams 156). For many Buddhists, practical acts of kindness and generosity are critical to salvation. The Buddhist philosophy of codependent arising and radical interdependence indicate that each anymal was at some point one’s parent, and to harm one’s parent is a particularly base act for much of the world to which Buddhism traveled, including China and Japan. Because we are related to all creatures, on “anymal day” some Buddhists release living beings from the suffering we too often impose on other sentient creatures. Buddhist philosophy holds that people are merely one small part of an interconnected and interdependent universe. This Buddhist outlook is reflected in Buddhist morality that teaches loving-kindness and compassion, reinforced through lively anymal tales. “[I]t can be forcefully argued” that Buddhists, perhaps even unanimously, agree “on the significance that real, live individuals of other species have” (Waldau 153). The first Buddhist precept requires the faithful not to kill. Buddhism thus reveals a protectionist philosophy that is not merely peripheral, but belongs “to the core of the tradition” forming “the foundation of Buddhist morality” (Waldau 138). 4. Daoism and Other Chinese Religions In recent times China and Japan have frequently been criticized for actions harmful to the natural world and anymals, but Chinese spiritual traditions are rich with protectionist teachings. China has several important religious traditions, including Daoism (or Taoism), Buddhism, Philosophy of Change, Confucianism, and Yin Yang Philosophy. (Chinese Buddhism is discussed in the above section on Buddhism; this section focuses largely on the Daoist tradition.) In China, spiritual wisdom has long been associated with those who live close to nature—whether Buddhist or Daoist. In roughly the tenth century Ssu-k’ung Tu wrote a poem titled “Oxhead Temple”: “From my favorite place in the Chung-nan Mountains,/

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The chanting of the monks emerges into the dark sky./Groves of trees stand out clearly in the somber solitude,/thin mist floats in the desolate void” (Mair, Columbia 241). The Taoist Meng Hao-jan (circa 700 CE) writes: All my life I have respected true reclusion For days on end sought spiritual mysteries. . . . There are many pure notes in pines and streams; These moss-grown walls are wrapped in a feeling of antiquity. How I would like to retire to this very mountain, “Casting off both self and world alike.” (Mair, Columbia 194)

For many Chinese Buddhists and Daoists, nature is understood not only as the appropriate place to seek spiritual growth and enlightenment, but also as a medium through which the highest spiritual truths might be learned. The following Chinese Buddhist poem, perhaps written by a poet whose name means “Cold Mountain” (Hanshan, who lived sometime before the ninth century), relates a recluse’s view of nature as a metaphor for the spiritual path: I climb up the Way to Cold Mountain, But the Cold Mountain road is endless: Long valleys of boulders stacked stone upon stone, Broad streams thick with dense undergrowth. The mosses are slippery, though there’s been no rain; Pines cry out, but it’s not the wind. Who can get beyond worldly attachments And sit with me among the white clouds? (Sommer 167)

Mountains and rivers have long been sacred in China, as in India, and have even played an important role in official religion and the governing of the nation (L. Thompson, Chinese Way 29). In fact, Chinese mountains are divinities (L. Thompson, Chinese Way 179). Until recently, every Chinese village had “a temple dedicated to the local mountain god” (Bernbaum 24). Also as in India, Chinese spiritual practitioners (Buddhist and Daoist)—especially those who are spiritually advanced—have often lived far from civilization (L. Thompson, Chinese Religion 81, 107). Of course, the wild places are where the anymals live, and this has brought China’s spiritual people in direct contact with other species. It is not surprising that popular images such as the Chinese god of long life, Fukuokuju, are associated with the crane, stag, and tortoise (Storm 231). As is the case with many non-Western faiths, Chinese traditions are not exclusive. Many people are both Daoist and Confucian; they

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accept the Philosophy of Change and Yin Yang Philosophy. Most Chinese people engage in a variety of religious practices from different Chinese religions and accept philosophical teachings from all Chinese religious traditions. Chuang Tzu, a great Daoist mystic, second only to Lao Tzu in the Taoist world, goes so far as to indicate that categories of any kind, whether human and anymal or Christian and Buddhist, are best left aside. “[W]hen the shoe fits/The foot is forgotten,/When the belt fits/The belly is forgotten,/When the heart is right/‘For’ and ‘against’ are forgotten” (Merton 112). Outside of the Judeo-Christian-Islamic faiths, notions of the one right way, the only truth, are uncommon. In China, most people subscribe to an eclectic mix of spiritual philosophies. Furthermore, “Chinese philosophy and culture tend to be ‘Taoist’ in a broad sense, since the idea of Tao is, in one form or another, central to traditional Chinese thinking” (Merton 20). The Chinese worldview does not admit of an independent humanity, but views the universe as an ongoing process, where we are but a small part of one unity. The cosmos, and all parts of this great cosmos, interact and participate in what the Chinese view as a spontaneous selfgenerating process of life (Tu 67). Everything that exists is part of this ongoing transformation, providing the Chinese people with a sense of self as an intimate part of a larger whole to which they belong, but in which they are not of any greater importance than any other entity (L. Thompson, Chinese Religion 6). As with Indian philosophy, the Daoist tradition acknowledges constant change as fundamental to existence. Perpetual transformations bind each individual to all other things (Chan 177). Resultant Chinese philosophy shares much in common with Indian “oneness.” The constant flux and transformation involved in this great, cosmic process “binds all things into one, equalizing all things and all opinions” (Chan 177). Nothing lies outside of this Daoist continuum, and so “the chain of being is never broken,” and a link can “always be found between any given pair of things in the universe,” whether gaur and mongoose, or mongoose and human being (Tu 70). Furthermore, every link in the web of life is critical to one’s own existence; everything that exists in the universe is “intrinsically related to and thus constitutive of ‘self ’” (Ames 120). We can only exist as part of this larger whole. In this view of the universe each anymal is necessary as part of the larger whole (Tu 71). There is no God behind the functioning of the cosmos. There

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is no hierarchy, no superior race or species (Hall 109). Each being has its special way of being, its te, and this te is to be honored both in self and in others—all others—whether marsupial, monotreme, or primate (Hall 110). In the words of Chuang Tzu, the “universe is vast, its transformation is uniform. Although the myriad things are many, their order is one” (Chan 204). Chuang Tzu goes on to say, “The universe and I exist together, and all things and I are one” (Chan 186). Unlike Indian philosophy, Chuang Tzu’s view of interconnectedness and unity envisions the human body as bits and pieces of everything else. He understands death and decay as a physical mixing of matter. He writes about two people—one man lying on his deathbed receiving a visitor: “Go away” he said, “Don’t disturb the transformation that is about to take place.” Then, leaning against the door, he continued, “Great is the Creator! What will he make of you now? Where will he take you? Will he make you into a rat’s liver? Will he make you into an insect’s leg?” (Chan 197)

All matter—all beings—are viewed as an integral part of a great and ongoing transformation (Parkes 91). Put clearly by Chuang Tzu: “Now a dragon, now a snake,/You transform together with the times,/And never consent to be one thing alone” (Parkes 92). The Chinese worldview provides a vision of discord as shallow, like the waves that skim above a great ocean, while harmony is deep, reaching clear to the ocean floor. Harmony pervades the cosmos, which entails union, integration, and synthesis, rather than exclusivity. Everything that exists benefits all else that exists, and no one species or mode of existence is favored in the impersonal process of transformation (Tu 71–73). “Human beings are thus organically connected with rocks, trees, and animals”; we are not overlords or separate, but an integral part of a larger whole, along with all other beings (Tu 74–75). In short, human beings “experience nature from within” (Tu 77). Daoists generally think it obvious that Dao exists, that it “operates wisely and reliably, without human assistance,” and that “any interventional activity by humans will inevitably interfere” with the proper functioning of the Dao and will result in tragedy (Kirkland 294). Dao, or “the Way,” is a concept sometimes difficult for Westerners to grasp. In the Daoist view there is no definitive Creator, no teleological goal, no design in the universe. There is no deity to

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punish or favor humanity. Dao simply “abides in all things” ( Jochim 8). According to Chuang Tzu, Dao is everywhere, in the ant, in the weeds, in “excrement and urine” (Chan 203). Yet he also admitted that even he, a great sage, had only found the beginning of the realm of Dao and did not know where it might end (Waley 52–53). The universe is ordered in the Daoist view: Patterns of “alternating forces and phases” shape “rhythms of life” (Kleeman 67). Dao is the final source and ground of the universe. . . . Dao runs through the whole universe and human life and is both the transcendent and the immanent. Therefore, as the model for human behavior and as the object of the ultimate concern of human beings, Dao is similar to God. The difference is that Dao has nothing to do with will, feelings, and purposes. (Xiaogan 322–23)

The Dao is similar to a divine being in that it represents that which we cannot know, that which maintains the order of the universe (Xiaogan 323). Dao is the Infinite, the eternally changeless, nonbeing (Wu 26–27). Dao is ultimate reality (Henricks xviii). The Dao, or the Way, is that reality, or that level of reality, that exists prior to and gave rise to all other things, the physical universe (Heaven and Earth), and all things in it. . . . The Way in a sense is like a great womb: it is empty and devoid in itself of differentiation, one in essence; yet somehow it contains all things in seed-like or embryo form, and all things “emerge” from the Tao in creation as babies emerge from their mothers. . . . But the Way does not simply give birth to all things. Having done so, it continues in some way to be present in each individual thing as an energy or power, a power that is not static but constantly on the move, inwardly pushing each thing to develop and grow in a certain way, in a way that is in accord with its true nature. (Henricks xviii–xix)

Perhaps most important for our purposes, the Dao is “an abstract, universal principle in the realm of ethics” (Merton 21). Dao is beyond human understanding, as expressed in the first lines of the Daode jing: “The Tao that can be told of is not the eternal Tao;/The name that can be named is not the eternal name” (Chan 139). The Chinese view of the cosmos—their understanding of Tao— directs how people are to live (Parkes 81). Daoist moral teachings laid out in the One Hundred and Eighty Precepts (Yibaibashijie), like the precepts of most faiths, encourage people to live simply and gently with the natural world and to be compassionate toward other creatures

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(Schipper 81–85). There is an emphasis in Daoist philosophy on “weakness and humility,” on “openness and emptiness,” on ways of being that cause no harm (Chan 137). Those who would be moral exemplars are to love the earth (Chan 143). We are not to foul the air or water or seal off pools or wells; we must use discretion if we burn, fell trees, or create water reservoirs. A Daoist is to live as a companion to nature, never interfering or imposing personal will (Chan 177). Nor are anymals neglected in the One Hundred and Eighty Precepts. Daoist moral teachings are very clear about killing anymals, even for food: “You should not fish or hunt and thereby harm and kill living beings. . . . You should not in winter dig up hibernating animals and insects. . . . You should not use cages to trap birds and [other] animals” (Schipper 81). Likewise, we must not abuse or overwork domestic anymals. People are specifically discouraged from killing living beings, even for consumption (Schipper 84–85). Through the influence of both Buddhism and Daoism, many Chinese people are vegetarian (L. Thompson, Chinese Religion 116). The Daoist Ko Hung wrote that those traveling the spiritual path ought to extend their “love to the creeping worm and do no harm” to any living beings; at the table, he instructed the Daoist to “entirely abstain from flesh” (L. Thompson, Chinese Religions 85). Along with the Buddhist and Hindu traditions, Daoism speaks clearly against killing, providing a “universalistic ethic” that extends “not only to all humanity, but to the wider domain of all living things” (Kirkland 284). “Fostering life” is also a recurring theme in Daoist teachings. The second to the last sentence in the most important Taoist work, the Daode jing, states simply, “The Way of Heaven is to benefit others and not to injure” (Chan 176). The virtue of compassion is prominent in other writings as well, such as in the novel, Monkey. At one point in this tale of adventure, a man releases a fish back into the river, and his aging mother comments, “To release living things . . . is an act of piety. I am very glad you did it” (Monkey 87). Daoist literature “abounds in stories of exemplary men and women who earned recognition—and even ‘transcendence’—by secretly performing compassionate acts, particularly for creatures disdained by others” (Kirkland 293). The three moral treasures of Daoism include ci (compassion or deep love), jian (restraint or frugality), and “not daring to be at

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the forefront of the world” (Kirkland 294; Xiaogan 330). They work together to protect the natural world. Ci might also be translated as “gentleness, motherly love, commiseration, pity, or love. . . . [W]hile the basic meaning is love, ci is deeper, gentler, and broader than love” (Xiaogan 330). Ci does not admit of aggression (Xiaogan 330). Ci, deep love, for nature and anymals requires restraint or frugality and “not daring to be at the forefront of the world.” People need to live simply so that all species can live on our crowded planet. Wu wei, often translated as nonstriving, acting without acting, nonaction, or perhaps most appropriately, “action as non-action” exemplifies this Chinese ideal (Xiaogan 316). Wei is best understood as “human action intending to achieve results,” and more specifically results thought to be “superior to what would result if nature were simply allowed to take its own course” (Kirkland 295). The Daode jing notes that we are “to keep our hands off the processes at work in the world” because the world is a “spiritual vessel, and one cannot act upon it; one who acts upon it destroys it” (Kirkland 296). The only “wise and beneficent behavior” for humans is “humble and enlightened self-restraint”—self-restraint that is essential to the natural and proper functioning of the Dao (Kirkland 296). Dao represents forever the unknown final reason of the world surrounding us, reminding human beings of their limitations. As average members of the . . . universe, humans have no power to do what they wish without facing unexpected consequences. Therefore, prudent behavior and action, namely [wu wei ] are important and beneficial. (Xiaogan 232–34)

Dao reminds us of our limitations and instructs us to be mindful (if not leery) of directive actions (Xiaogan 232). Dao functions by wu wei; to practice wu wei is therefore to behave according to the Dao (Xiaogan 323). Wu wei discourages “movements exercised intensively, coercively, dramatically, and on a large scale” (Xiaogan 217). Wu wei does not support the massive developments of nature into city or the intrusive manipulating of wild species to benefit human interests, such as those of hunters. The Daoist practitioner is not to strive; “everything develops or is accomplished naturally” (Xiaogan 321). This does not leave us helpless, in disorder, without recourse. The Daode jing notes: “Tao invariably takes no action, and yet there is nothing left undone” (Tao #37). The greatest accomplishment is no accomplishment:

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chapter six [T]he sage desires to have no desire. He does not value rare treasures. He learns to be unlearned, and returns to what the multitude has missed (Tao). Thus he supports all things in their natural state but does not take any action. (Tao #64)

Wu wei “refers to a higher standard of human actions and their results,” instructing practitioners to live “in accordance with nature” rather than to control or change the world around us—to live a natural life (Xiaogan 315–316; Po-Keung, “Taoism” 334). Wu wei therefore embodies “the spirit of naturalness” and is “directed toward the realization of natural harmony both among human societies and between humans and nature” (Xiaogan 321). This unique Chinese concept reminds people that the world is exactly as it should be, that we are best to celebrate the world that we have, rather than try to improve or develop the world around us. There are no changes or refinements that humans ought to make with regard to nature, and any such attempts will only lead to ruin (Kinsley, Ecology 80). Ci, or deep love, when directed outward to other living beings, requires wu wei, which supports and helps the harmonious relationships between all creatures (Xiaogan 328). Wu wei requires human beings to leave other creatures alone so that they can live out their lives undisturbed (Kinsley, Ecology 79). Wu wei “entails acting in harmony with . . . all other creatures” (Kinsley, Ecology 79). In Daoist philosophy anything that humans do should be harmonious with what is natural (Marshall 19). The natural state is the ideal state; adherents are discouraged from striving or grasping at material wealth and encouraged to live gently on the earth, causing little disturbance to the world around us, taking our example from nature. Nature says few words. For the same reason a whirlwind does not last a whole morning, Nor does a rainstorm last a whole day. If even Heaven and Earth cannot make them last long, How much less can man? (Tao #23)

Nature functions in harmony; those few surface waves that appear to offer discord, such as storms and whirlwinds, are short lived. We are best to go along harmoniously, rather than spend our energies trying to bring a whirlwind of change to the cosmos, for we will

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surely not even have as much success as a small whirlwind directed by nature. Daoism teaches that “living things do not live in an uncaring world (Kirkland 296). Dao is “a feminine reality and a maternal reality” (Henricks xix). Nature is guided by “a natural force that is not only utterly benign but continuously at work in all the processes and events of the world” (Kirkland 296). Living by the Dao requires people to see this benign force in the world, and to both accept and rely on this natural way, rather than rely on ourselves, “for the fulfillment of the health and harmony of all living things” (Kirkland 296). Daoism does not permit people to dam the rivers where the fish swim, manipulate wildlife for hunters’ sport, breed farmed anymals for economic gain, or manipulate genetics to increase productivity. To be a Daoist is not to manipulate at all, but to live by wu wei, allowing nature to takes its own course, with the understanding that nature operates exactly as it should because it is controlled “by a force that is like a loving mother (Kirkland 298). “Because there actually is a benign natural force at work in the world, any extraneous action on the part of humans can logically only cause further disturbance” (Kirkland 297). Daoist philosophy represents all things as part of one great fluctuating whole in which Daoists are encouraged to live lives of tranquility and harmony, and to regard nature, and what is natural, as ideal: Attain complete vacuity, Maintain steadfast quietude. All things come into being, And I see thereby their return. . . . This return to its root means tranquility. . . . To return to destiny is called the eternal (Tao). . . . Being one with Nature he is in accord with Tao. (Tao #16)

Human contrivances may seem worthwhile but the natural way is preferred. Technology may block far more important advances, such as one’s spiritual progress (Marshall 18). Daoist writings encourage people to live in small communities and work the land gently. Lao Tzu taught: “A small country has fewer people. Though there are machines that can work ten to a hundred times faster than man, they are not needed” (Tao). Letting nature be, and living simply, are Daoist ideals: “Manifest plainness,/Embrace simplicity,/Reduce selfishness,/Have few desires” (Tao #19).

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In ancient China extrapolation seems to have led people to believe that imbalance, particularly human domination, caused natural disasters. Because the excessive wealth of a few contributed to the misery of the masses, it was assumed that other undesirable effects from human greed might also be expected, even in the natural world (Marshall 20). Because Daoists did not see human beings and their actions as separate from the rest of the world, they concluded that human greed and cruelty could cause natural disasters. In China, anymals are thought to share the vital energy that flows through all living beings and are viewed as similar enough to human beings for philosophers to draw meaningful parallels (E. Anderson 165–66). Chuang Tzu includes such anymals as a tortoise, fish, butterfly, rat, fly, gibbon, yak, and frog in his writings (E. Anderson 165). He “constantly used nature not just as metaphor, but as real dynamic analogy,” presenting anymals as equivalent to human beings “based on real relationships (E. Anderson 165). He likens himself to a turtle, relates personally to a minnow, and finds himself indistinguishable from a butterfly (Teachings 66, 67, 26): One of Chuang Tzu’s most famous passages regards a butterfly: Once I . . . dreamed that I was a butterfly and was happy as a butterfly. I was conscious that I was quite pleased with myself, but I did not know that I was Chou [Tzu]. Suddenly I awoke, and there I was, visibly Chou. I do not know whether it was Chou dreaming that he was a butterfly or the butterfly dreaming that it was Chou. (Chan 190)

Chuang Tzu’s references to other species are intended to push us to see the world from a different perspective, and abandon our isolated, separatist, anthropocentric vision (Parkes 91). He provides cryptic stories teaching his followers that to insist that one’s view of things is universally valid and true for all others and all species is simply wrongheaded. . . . His writings mock our tendency to view reality as if it were constructed especially for human beings. . . . [T]here is more to the world than can be imagined. One should not try to conform the world to one’s limited perspective. (Kinsley, Ecology 81)

Chuang Tzu soundly rejects species as an important demarcation. In the Chinese worldview, human beings are “one of the myriad kinds of beings” (Wu 37). In the first century CE, Wang Ch’ung wrote regarding “Taoist Truths,” that “Man is a creature. His rank may be ever so high, even princely or royal, but his nature cannot

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be different from that of other creatures” (Mair, Columbia 65–66). We may consider ourselves royal, or educated, but at the end of the day, we are anymals. To rise above our common, humanocentric vision of the universe is the Taoist ideal. Chuang Tzu writes: If a man sleeps in a damp place, he will have a pain in his loins and will dry up and die. Is that true of eels? If a man lives up in a tree he will be frightened and tremble. Is that true of monkeys? Which of the three knows the right place to live? Men eat vegetables and flesh, and deer eat tender grass. Centipedes enjoy snakes, and owls and crows like mice. Which of the four knows the right taste? (Chan 187)

Not only are people and anymals of one kind, but anymals (like people) are best when in their natural state. Chuang Tzu writes: “What do you mean by Nature and what do you mean by man?” The spirit of the North Sea replied, “A horse or a cow has four feet. That is Nature. Put a halter around the horse’s head and put a string through the cow’s nose, that is man. Therefore it is said, “Do not let man destroy Nature.” (Chan 207)

Chuang Tzu instructs that training an animal is inherently harmful and cruel; human interference harms other creatures. In his view, training horses turns happy equines into “brigands” (Mair, Wandering 82). Even when we imagine that we improve the lives of anymals, our interference is harmful. The Daode jing also notes: “Racing and hunting cause one’s mind to be mad” (#12); “Fish should not be taken away from the water” (#36) (Chan 145, 157). Chuang Tzu writes a poignant tale of a seabird, blown ashore, for which people offered a “solemn reception,” including fine dining and musical performances, but the bird is “[d]azed with symphonies” and consequently “[d]ied of despair” (Merton 103). Chuang Tzu asks, How should you treat a bird? As yourself Or as a bird? Ought not a bird to nest in deep woodland Or fly over meadow and marsh? Ought not it to swim on river and pond, Feed on eels and fish, Fly in formation with other waterfowl, And rest in the reeds? Bad enough for a sea bird To be surrounded by men

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chapter six And frightened by their voices! That was not enough! They killed it with music! Play all the music you like On the marshlands of Thung-Ting. The birds will fly away In all directions; The animals will hide; The fish will dive to the bottom; But men Will gather around to listen. Water is for fish And air for men. Natures differ, and needs with them. (Merton 103–04)

Chuang Tzu teaches people to leave anymals in the wilds and not cage or tame them. He writes that the “marsh pheasant has to take ten steps before it finds something to pick at and has to take a hundred steps before it gets a drink. But the pheasant would prefer not to be raised in a cage where, though you treat it like a king, its spirit would not thrive” (Mair, Wandering 27). Harmony is the Chinese ideal, and Chuang Tzu notes: “Left to their own devises, human beings and animals would form harmonious natural communities” (Mair, Wandering 80). In the Taoist world, if people would leave anymals alone, as we ought to, we would live in a golden age of “ultimate integrity”—side by side, together yet firmly separate. In such an age there would be no paths and tunnels through the mountains, no boats or bridges to cross the swamps. The myriad things would live in groups, their settlements lined up next to each other. Birds and beasts would form groups, the grasses and trees would thrive. Thus birds and beasts could be tamed but still wander about; one could climb up to the nests of magpies and peep in without disturbing them. In a world of ultimate integrity, men would dwell together with the birds and beasts. (Mair, Wandering 81)

Chinese stories, like those of other lands, prominently feature anymals that teach spiritual lessons. One of the most famous is a novel called Monkey, or Journey to the West, which incorporates aspects of Taoism, Buddhism, and Chinese folklore (Sommer 240). In one sense it is a true story about a monk in the early seventh century who traveled all the way across China to India in order to transport Buddhist scriptures, a journey that took seventeen years (Mair, Columbia

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966). His travels became a folk legend sprinkled with religious satire as well as spiritual insights (Sommer 239). The main characters in Monkey are the monk himself, a monkey, a pig, and a horse. Pigsy, the pig, represents “physical appetites, brute strength, and a kind of cumbrous patience” (Monkey 8). Sandy, the white horse, was transformed into a fierce dragon (from a dragon prince) for causing problems in the realms of heaven (Monkey 80; Mair, Columbia 966). He then added “sin to sin, slaying living creatures,” making it difficult for him to gain the good merit necessary in order that he might achieve his former status (Monkey 80). Monkey “represents the human mind and, as such, is resourceful and intelligent, but at the same time is unbridled and wild unless controlled” (Mair, Columbia 967). He combines “beauty with absurdity” and “profundity with nonsense,” and exemplifies “the restless instability of genius” (Monkey 7–8). Each character is critical to the journey, and no character is either perfect, or perfectly awful. Even the human being, ostensibly the main character, teaches readers to see human beings exactly as we are. Though he is a monk on a great pilgrimage, he exemplifies “the ordinary man, blundering anxiously through the difficulties of life” (Monkey 8). One cannot help but compare this boisterous monkey with Hanuman in the Hindu Ramayana (Mair, Columbia 967). Both are powerful, likeable characters, though the Chinese monkey is of a more questionable character. Monkey, in many ways, steals the show, acting as the main character; chapters that focus on this out-of-control primate can easily stand on their own (Mair, Columbia 966). Monkey causes so much trouble in the Halls of Heaven that, as punishment, he is trapped in a stone for five hundred years in the side of a mountain. He is only released to help the hero of the story, the monk, in his journey to India, and promises to do so faithfully if released. But soon after release he kills a handful of thieves, for which the monk scolds him; the undisciplined primate readily abandons his charge, and his promise, in the face of criticism. With help from the Bodhisattva Kuan-yin, the monk secures a cap and jacket to keep Monkey under control. Monkey quickly dons the cap, not knowing of its powers (and always ready to act without thinking), and is vexed when he cannot remove it. When the monk recites a certain spell, the cap gives Monkey a terrible headache that brings him to his knees (Monkey 133–37). Monkey is thereby forced to focus on accomplishing the spiritual task at hand.

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Also central to this great novel is the virtue of compassion. Kuanyin (previously mentioned) is another prominent character in Monkey, and can be seen as a Taoist goddess and/or as the Buddhist bodhisattva of compassion (Graham 21). She is the most worshipped and popular of all Chinese deities even today (Kinsley, Goddesses’ 26). Kuan-yin gathers the various characters in the novel Monkey, makes them ready for the journey, and watches over them on their way. She is their “guardian and protector” (Kinsley, Goddesses’ 37). Kuanyin embodies wisdom and love (Graham 21); she is the “essence of mercy and compassion” (Kinsley, Goddesses’ 26). Her name means “She Who Listens to the World’s Sounds,” revealing her role as the compassionate helper of those in distress (Kinsley, Goddesses’ 35). She listens to the sounds of the world and responds to those who cry for help. Like all bodhisattvas, her goal is to free all sentient beings from suffering, to help “all beings on earth to attain enlightenment” (Sommer 127; Storm 194). Other stories featuring Kuan-yin involve an array of anymals. In one story she is aided by a gigantic tiger; in another she relates that she has more than once been a “noble horse” (Blofeld 69, 75). In a third, tigers bring her firewood and birds collect vegetables, while “gods summoned to her service” toil in the kitchen (Palmer 70). In yet another Kuan-yin story, the bodhisattva saves a cicada, falling from a wall in the process. When she alights, she has a bleeding wound, but remarks that a scar is “a small price to pay for the life of a cicada” (Palmer 67). Kuan-yin also releases a carp, caught by fishers, back into the river. The carp happens to be the son of a dragon king dwelling deep in the waters (Kinsley, Goddesses’ 48). (In the Chinese worldview, one never knows what special spiritual importance a small fish or a troublesome monkey might have.) Always, in all forms, Kuan-yin shows mercy and compassion for “people and animals in distress” (Blofeld 80). However, she is not just an abstract concept of love, a helpful bodhisattva, nor merely an extremely popular and beneficial goddess. She is what each of us is meant to be—what we are to strive for. Practitioners are not just to cry out for Kuan-yin’s assistance when in need, but to cultivate those qualities exemplified in this great goddess (or bodhisattva), those of compassion, mercy, and selflessness (Kinsley, Goddesses’ 51). “Kuanyin is a state of perfection”; perfection in Chinese spirituality is embodied in the figure of a woman who will assist any living being (Kinsley, Goddesses’ 51).

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Chinese religious traditions, especially Daoism and Buddhism, teach of interconnections shared by all life, and the importance of harmony with the world around. People are to love deeply (ci ) but not to dominate or disturb. Toward this end, spiritual practitioners are to exemplify simplicity and wu wei, action as nonaction. What is natural is what is ideal in the Taoist vision, and compassion is a foundational moral virtue. With so many protectionist teachings at the core of Chinese religions, it is not surprising that the bodhisattva of compassion, Kuan Yin, is the most popular of Chinese deities. 5. Islam Islam is a sister religion to Judaism and Christianity. “Islam accepts, and incorporates into itself, all antecedent prophets of Abrahamic lineage, up to and including Jesus and Mary” (Stoddart 34). The word “Allah” simply means “God”; when Arabic-speaking Christians pray to God, they pray to “Allah” (Kimball). Much scripture and fundamental theology, such as an insistence on monotheism, is similar in each of these three Western faiths. Therefore, much of what Linzey asserts regarding Christianity is also true of Islam; there are many nature and anymal-friendly moral teachings to be found. Islam inherited the Judeo-Christian hierarchy wherein a benevolent, all-powerful Creator rules, with people placed “in dominion on the earth” (Qur"an 7:10). People are at the top of the hierarchy but are also assigned greater responsibilities: Humans are “ecologically dominant,” but we are also “an instrument of Allah’s Will to whom everything belongs” (Zaid 46–47). People must look after all of creation because we are accountable to the deity (Dutton 329). The Qur"an places people as vice-regents over creation: “[T]he proper human role is that of conscientious steward and not exploiter” (Foltz, Animals 15). That with which human beings are endowed requires “commensurate humility and sensitivity, predicated upon respect and reverence for the divine purpose in every created thing” (Said 164). We are Allah’s caretakers, servants amidst divine creation. Muslims are to tend rather than exploit, to assist rather than dominate. In the Islamic faith, privileges “follow and do not precede responsibilities” (Nasr 97). The word “Islam” literally means to “surrender to God’s law” in day-to-day life (Esposito 69). Many Muslims assert that “humankind has no rights, only duties”; the correct relationship

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between people and Allah “is that of slaves to master” (Denny 8). As is the case with Christianity, all that exists has come from, and belongs exclusively to, the divine; Allah is the “Lord of All creatures” (Qur"an 69:28–52). The universe is here by the power of Allah and is “the personal creation of God. Since his work is faultless, it is considered perfect” (Marshall 128). Judaism, Christianity, and Islam share the religious teaching that “animals are with us common creatures of the same God. All beings . . . originate with a Creator who is loving, just and holy. . . . [A]nimals are not completely separate from us, there is a common ontological basis for all life” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 57). Six chapters of the Qur"an are named after species: Cow, Bee, Ant, Spider, Cattle, and Elephant (Foltz, Animals 11). Creation has “intrinsic value” through Allah (Ozdemir 21). “To Him belongs all that is, in the heavens and in the earth, each and all subservient to His will. He it is who initiates creation and continually renews it” (Qur"an 30:26–27). Damaging the earth is therefore disrespectful and disobedient toward Allah. Allah saved a pair of every species from the great flood (Qur"an 11:38–40), and we are called upon to tend, protect, and save creatures that have been driven to the brink of extinction. Allah beseeches, “Do not defile the good earth, hallowed as it has been” (Qur"an 7:55–56). Through nature we can see Allah: “There are signs, too—for those with a mind to understand—in the alternation of night and day, and in the gracious rain God sends from heaven to renew the face of the parched earth, and in the veering of the winds” (Qur"an 45:1–6). “Muslim thinkers regard nature as a sacred book . . . [ J]ust like the Qur"an, the universe reveals to us the existence of a Sustainer and Creator” (Ozdemir 21). The Hadith qudsi (a group of sacred writings classified as “tradition”) states: “I was a Hidden Treasure, and I wished to be known, so I created the world” (Stoddart 80). “The forms and the creatures have a purpose” because they make Allah known to us (Mathnawi IV, 3028). Creation is a window through which we might glimpse Allah; a masterpiece of the deity’s “creative effort” (Ozdemir 21). The Qur"an exclaims, “Surely in the heavens and the earth there are signs for the faithful; in your own creation, and in the beasts that are scattered far and near, signs for true believers . . . signs for men of understanding” (45:1–8). If Allah created and provided for every parched prairie, who are

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we to despoil the earth? The Qur"an teaches that earth, and all that exists therein, is not merely for human purposes, but for the benefit of all (Ozdemir 23). Hearts open to Allah will find the divine in the leaf of every aspen and the song of every katydid. Each created entity was purposefully designed and brought to life by Allah. All of nature is a vision of Divine splendor: “Whichever way you turn there is the face of Allah” (Qur"an 2:115). Creation points back to Allah, but is itself due “watchfulness, gratefulness, and respect” (Ozdemir 21). The Quran invited the pagan Arabs, who were illiterate, to ponder nature and the universe for at least two purposes: first, to have an idea about God’s existence and His presence through whatever He creates; and second, to have a moral feeling of obligation toward a transcendental being, God. . . . To infuse the natural world with transcendent (revealed) ethics is the main purpose of man according to the Qur"an. (Ozdemir 10)

For a devout Muslim, an “attitude of respect and an appreciation of natural harmonies mediate the relationship of humans to the rest of creation” (Said 167). Tending Allah’s creation out of moral obligation to Allah is an act of religious devotion and earthly self-sacrifice that many Muslims agree bears sweet fruit. When a Muslim “absents himself from the world” of materialism and human strife for the deity, Allah “makes himself present in the world for man” (Schuon 57). By tending to the world, people come to see the world as part of the divine, and they find “something of God” in the world around them (Schuon 57). Islam recognizes and accentuates the interdependence of humankind and creation, and their mutual dependence upon God. These relationships of interdependence and dependence have moral corollaries, requiring on the part of humans due regard for the rights of nature, understood in light of the rights and purposes of God. . . . Animals, like human beings, form communities. They have their own forms of prayer, and they, too, will return to their Lord. (Said 163)

“Contrary to prevailing modern views, there is no clear-cut distinction between humans and nonhumans;” we are all “creatures of the same Creator” (Ozdemir 24). In a verse which constitutes the very core of Islamic teaching on animals rights (Foltz, Animals 17), the Qur"an acknowledges our commonality with living entities that Allah created: “All the beasts that roam the earth and all the birds that

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wing their flight are communities like your own . . .” (Qur"an 6:38). Human beings are not viewed as radically different from the rest of the animals, or separate from nature. Anymals are not lesser or lower, but separate communities, all under the protective power of Allah. Islamic ethics and law, derived largely from the Qur"an and Hadith, teach that the animal world should be treated as a silent partner . . . of humankind . . . in this world. Animals communicate among themselves, understand each other, and even worship Allah in their own unique way . . ., which Allah has given them. . . . Any act of cruelty toward animals is strongly forbidden. (Siddiq 454–55)

We are part of Allah’s bountiful creation; we are animals. If the earth and all that live therein speak of Allah, there can be no “demarcation between human and nature as disconnected entities or objects”; all that is on the earth is interconnected and interdependent (Ozdemir 22). [H]umans are described as similar to non-human animals in almost all respects. . . . [I]n Islam non-human animals are considered to have souls (nafs). Some Muslim scholars have opined that non-human animals will be resurrected along with humans on the Day of Judgment. The Qur"an states that all creation praises God, even if this praise is not expressed in human language [Qur"an 17:44; 22:18; 24:41]. (Foltz, “This” 5)

It has been “argued by some Islamic commentators that humans are unique only in that they possess volition (taqwa), and are thus responsible for their actions” (Foltz, Animals 17). We are part of the earthly diversity that Allah intended: “Men, beasts, and cattle have their different colors” (Qur"an 35:27–30). Perhaps to combat human arrogance, there is a tendency to belittle human beings in the Qur"an—in light of Allah and the totality of creation, humans are reminded of their insignificance (Schuon 21). Furthermore, Islam teaches that the gains of this world are paltry in comparison with those that lie ahead: “Worldly goods are but a temptation” (Qur"an 8:25–31). Attributes such as intelligence, skill, talent, and wealth are likely to endanger one’s spiritual life (Whinfield 228). We are not here for our own sakes, but to serve Allah. Exploiting the earth, satisfying our wants, and dominating nature and anymals may provide for a wealthy worldly existence, but does not testify to one living a life of submission and service to Allah.

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As with Hebrew Scriptures, there are passages in the sacred writings of Islam that clearly call for a vegan diet: We have spread out the earth and set upon it immovable mountains. We have planted it with every seasonable fruit, thus providing sustenance for man and beast. We hold the store of every blessing and send it down in appropriate measure. We let loose the fertilizing winds and bring down water from the sky for you to drink; its stores are beyond your reach. (Qur"an 15:9–32)

Vegan bounty was provided for all of creation when Allah “laid the earth for all living creatures, with its fruits, its palm-trees, and their fruiting dates, the grain in the blade and herbs of fragrance” (Qur"an 55:1–17). In contemporary times, “for the vast majority of Muslims the eating of meat is not only unnecessary but is also directly responsible for causing grave ecological and social harm, as well as being less healthful than a balanced vegetarian regime” (Foltz, “Is Vegetarianism” 11). Given the ills that stem from flesh eating, it would seem obvious that one would serve Allah best by giving up the habit of eating anymals. Contrary to common understanding, ritual slaughter is not prescribed by law, but is merely a custom (Stewart 119–20). “All that is demanded as a sacrifice is one’s personal willingness to submit one’s ego and individual will to Allah” (Muttaqi 2). Both the Qur"an and Sunna enjoin Muslims to treat anymals with compassion. “This is clearly reflected in the established procedure for halal slaughter. It should be obvious, however, that not slaughtering the animal at all would be even more compassionate” (Foltz, “Is Vegetarianism” 12). As most Jews have abandoned ritual slaughter, perhaps one day Muslims will do the same. Islamic theologian Al-Hafiz B. A. Mazri comments that Muslims would refuse to eat flesh on religious grounds if they knew the horrors of contemporary factory farming (Berry 245–46). Also similar to the Judeo-Christian tradition, humans are not the only part of creation that adores the Almighty. Each object “casts its shadow right and left, prostrating itself ” before Allah; to Allah “bow all the creatures of the heavens and the earth” (Qur"an 16:48–56). Though we may not see the devotion of the smallest mouse-tailed bat, the silent cottongrass, or the most obstreperous wolverine, the Qur"an indicates that every part of creation stands in praise of Allah: “The sun and the moon and the stars, the mountains and the trees, the beasts, and countless men—all prostrate themselves before Him”

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(Qur"an 22:18). “The seven heavens and the earth and all that is therein praise Him, and there is not a thing but hymneth His praise; but ye understand not their praise” (Qur"an, “Children of Israel” 44). Nothing on earth is detached from Allah: “All in the heavens and the earth give praise to God” (Qur"an 61:1). All are created by Allah, and all adore the divine—whether or not we understand. This “song of praise” carried out by all the earth “binds the whole of creation to the Creator” (Stoddart 62). Allah receives each entity’s praise and is aware of each being’s folly and hardship: “Do you not see how Allah is praised by those in heaven and earth? The very birds praise Him as they wing their flight. He notes the prayers and praises of all His creatures, and has knowledge of all their actions” (Qur"an 24:36–43). All creatures also join humankind in the judgment and resurrection in the Islamic faith. “To Allah belongs the kingdom of the heavens and the earth”; anymals have a direct relationship with the deity “and possess an eschatalogical significance” (Nasr 96). Allah has created each entity with its own destiny: “They shall all be gathered before their Lord” (Qur"an 6:37–42). “There is none in the heavens or on earth but shall return to Him in utter submission. He has kept strict count of all His creatures, and one by one they shall approach Him on the Day of Resurrection” (Qur"an 19:88–98). Allah cares for the myriad creatures and draws them back at the end of their time on earth: “To Him shall all things return” (Qur"an 3:105–10, 24:36–43). “Islamic paradise is full of animals and plants. . . . Creatures will speak directly to God on the Day of Judgment” (Nasr 96). Allah is not only aware of every tumblebug, but of our actions toward every tumblebug: “He observes all things” (Qur"an 67:16–24). Allah is righteous, compassionate, and has created the earth for “just purposes” (Denny 8). All that we do amidst creation is known and considered by Allah—we will be held accountable. “Allah controls the destiny of every living entity” and attends to the needs of the entire earthly multitude (Qur"an 11:56). Humans are required to be compassionate and merciful. The Qur"an also teaches that Allah is the “merciful lord of mercy” (Qur"an 59:22). “Countless are the beasts that cannot fend for themselves. Allah provides for them, as He provides for you. He alone hears all and knows all” (Qur"an 29:56–62). Hadith (“tradition”), the most authoritative Muslim teaching after the Qur"an, records the life and words of the prophet with intent to perpetuate his way of life

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( J. Smith 403). The Prophet of Islam is the “first and surest guide for the understanding of the Qur"an,” and his sayings and actions, recorded in Hadith, are very important for Muslims who wish to model their lives after that of the prophet (Nasr 97). Additionally, Hadith has been central, along with the Qur"an, in forming the basis for Islamic law. Hadith “emphasize compassion toward animals” (Foltz, “Islamic” 254). Hadith reveal Mohammed as one who “loved animals and displayed great kindness to them, and encouraged other Muslims to do likewise” (Nasr 97). What we know of Mohammed’s daily life reveals “compassion and care” for anymals and his hope of mitigating the suffering of animals at the hands of human beings (Haq 147). Hadith reveal Mohammed wiping the mouth of his horse with his own personal cloth. Portions of Hadith containing the life and words of Mohammed teach against using the skins of wild animals, against target practice on living creatures, and against inciting animals to fight for human entertainment. A well-known Hadith story about a woman condemned for confining and starving a cat is the basis for an Islamic law that requires Muslims to provide for their anymals (Haq 148). Another Hadith tells of a man who filled his shoe with water in order to quench the thirst of a dog and was thereby forgiven his sins. When the prophet was asked whether or not there is any heavenly reward for good deeds done to anymals, he replied, “In everything that lies there is a reward” (Haq 150). Mohammed’s voice, through Hadith, teaches that those who provide food for anymals, including birds, have “given a charitable gift” that will yield great rewards from above (Haq 145). The moral teachings of Hadith encourage compassion even toward the smallest living creature; records of Mohammed’s life reveal that he was compassionate not only toward people, but also toward the smallest of beings (Berry 244–45). Hadith commentators acknowledge that the Book of Jihad, from the Hadith of Sunan of Abu Da"ud, implies that “each animal is to be considered as an individual, since the tradition speaks of animals being given proper names. . . . Quite remarkably, this individuation effectively admits a unique identity on the part of each and every member of a given animal species” (Haq 148). One Hadith reports that anymals are not only to be regarded as individuals, but as members of the larger community, due proper care and respect. The size or grandeur of an anymal seemed of little importance to Mohammed—all were respected and protected. One of the sayings

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of the prophet in the Mishkat states, “If anyone wrongfully kills [even] a sparrow, [let alone] anything greater, he will face God’s interrogation” (Haq 149). Through Hadith, Anymals large and small are protected in times of peace and in times of war. Muslim legal scholars have ruled that God’s creatures possess inviolability (hurma) which pertains even in war: “The Prophet . . . forbade the killing of bees and any captured livestock, for killing them is a form of corruption included in what God has prohibited in His saying, ‘And when he turns away, he hastens through the land to cause corruption therein and to destroy the tilth and herds: And God loves not corruption’ (Qur"an 2:205). For they are animals with the spirit of life, so it is not lawful to kill them . . . They are animals possessing inviolability just as do women and children. (Llewellyn 236)

Shari"a, the body of Islamic writings referred to as “law,” “constitutes the ideal social blueprint for the ‘good society’” (Esposito 75). Shari"a comes from an Arabic word that means “way,” as in “direction” to a certain location (such as the “way” to the beach). In the world of Islam, Shari"a is “God’s ordaining of the right way for his faithful creatures” (Denny 8). Islamic law, based largely on Qur"an and Hadith, provides anymals with legal rights. Anymals are considered servants of Allah, along with human beings, and are thereby entitled to the same rights as other servants of the deity under Islamic law (Llewellyn 233). In the world of Islam, “each being exists by virtue of the truth” and is “owed its due” based on the nature of that entity (Nasr 97). As noted, the distinction between humanity and the rest of creation is not that we are superior in the world of Islam, or that we are free to control and exploit the world at will, but rather we are “accountable before God, such as no other creature is” (Haq 129–30). The Qur"an regulates how humans are to behave toward other animals, and with regard to other species (Ozdemir 22). Muslims are expected to “respect and pay what is due to each creature,” because “each creature has its rights accordingly” (Nasr 97). The Almighty beseeches followers to demonstrate patience and mercy (Qur"an 90:18–19); “Allah desires no injustice to His creatures” (Qur"an 3:105–10). All of creation is worthy of our care; anymals have rights, given by Allah, that must be respected by human beings (Nasr 97). Most fundamentally, it is forbidden to be cruel to anymals. Under Islamic law, anymals kept by human beings must have their basic needs provided, even if they are old or ill. Anymals must not be

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overworked or housed in a way that might cause them injury. Shari"a forbids Muslims from “imprisoning animals in unsuitably cramped conditions,” discourages the faithful from keeping wild anymals as pets and orchestrating fights between anymals for human entertainment (Llewellyn 194). If they are slaughtered, they must be killed without undo suffering: without harm to bones or skin while the anymal is still sentient (Llewellyn 233). One of the companions of the prophet, seen crumbling up bread for ants to eat, remarked, “They are our neighbors and have rights over us” (Haq 149). In another recorded instance, the prophet tells of rebuking a man who burned an entire anthill simply because he was stung by one ant: “Because an ant stung you, you have destroyed a whole nation that celebrates God’s glory” (Llewellyn 230–31). In the Islamic faith anymals are protected from wanton destruction. The mystical branch of Islam, the Sufi tradition, “permeates everything Islamic—philosophy, Qur"an commentary, economic life, and popular institutions” (Cragg, House 64). The Sufi tradition is an expression of Islamic spirituality and not a separate or divergent religion (Stoddart 61). Islamic mysticism holds a wealth of protectionist teachings. Mystics in all faiths tend to believe that the devout can communicate directly with the divine—can personally experience the divine (Rippin 25). This is not surprising given the mystical sense of “oneness of essence” that lies “between the creature and the creator” (Stoddart 71). “The central doctrine of Sufism is . . . the ‘oneness of being”; Sufis reject dualities such as those commonly envisioned between the divine and creation or humanity and nature (Stoddart 43–44). Because Sufis see all that exists as a unity, they experience Allah in the world around them. Islamic mysticism emphasizes the “need for harmony in the relationship of the individual to the Divine,” a harmony that “manifests in and through created things” (Said 172). The world is not of a different principle from the divine; the essential principle of the earth is that of the Almighty (Stoddart 49). In Sufi teachings, what we experience on earth is part of the divine essence. The earth is precious because it is inseparable from the Absolute (Stoddart 42). There is no gulf between Allah and human beings, between human beings and the rest of creation, or between Allah and the world. The Sufi tradition, based on the Qur"an, acknowledges creation as a treasure that holds Allah in every nook and cranny. Sufis find in the world “a revelation of God”; divine “beauty

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and wisdom are revealed in creation” (Marshall 135). For Islamic mystics, “[t]he whole creation is one great mirror, or a large number of mirrors, reflecting God’s overwhelming beauty” (Schimmel 382). Mir, a Sufi poet in India, writes: “Rose and mirror and sun and moon—what are they?/Wherever we looked, there was always Thy face” (Schimmel 289). Dhu"n-Nun, an Egyptian mystic, writes: Oh God, I never hearken to the voices of the beasts or the rustle of the trees, the splashing of the waters or the song of the birds, the whistling of the wind or the rumble of the thunder, but I sense in them a testimony to Thy Unity, and a proof of Thy incomparability, that Thou art the All-Prevailing, and All-Knowing, the All-True. (Schimmel 46)

Jalal al-Din Rumi (1207–1273), perhaps the most famous Sufi poet, often wrote of anymals: mice and fox, lions and donkeys. Rumi’s anymals are not mere props, but have their own natures, “their own metaphysical truth qua animals,” and they are Allah’s creatures—not unlike ourselves (Clarke 47). Yea, all the fish in the seas, And all feathered fowl in the air above, All elephants, wolves, and lions of the forest, All dragons and snakes, and even little ants, Yea, even air, water, earth, and fire, Draw their sustenance from Him. (Whinfield 188)

Rumi saw in anymals a “natural, God-given instinct” unobscured by human “intellect and false imaginings” (Clarke 47). He attributed to anymals the ability to love intuitively, without confusion (Clarke 47). Rumi’s Mathnawi indicates that all comes from Allah, and all return to Allah. Rumi’s faith in ultimate unity gave him a strong sense of the interconnectedness of all life and the connection of all life with Allah: I died a mineral and became a plant. I died a plant and rose an animal. I died an animal and I was a man. . . . To Him we shall return. (Schimmel 321)

Rumi’s writings hold anymals in a special spiritual place, one closer to Allah than that of most humans. He writes, “If only creatures had tongues (here below),/They could lift the veil from the Divine mysteries” (Nasr 96).

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Many Sufis “have advocated harmlessness as a principle of faith and engaged in vegetarianism” or even become vegans (Said 174). Contemporary Islamic scholar Leila Ahmed learned from her mother, “He who kills one being . . . kills all of humanity, and he who revives, or gives life to, one being revives all of humanity” (Ahmed 13). Sufi teachings hold that we ought to regard all lives as we regard our own lives, and to empathize with the suffering of other creatures. The Sri Lankan Sufi teacher, M. R. Bawa Muhaiyaddeen, teaches that flesh eaters ought to kill their own food and, while killing the animal, continue to look into the animal’s eyes until the last spark of life has been extinguished. If flesh eaters killed “food” in this way, Muhaiyaddeen believes that there would be few humans eating anymal corpses (Hamid 246). He also puts the matter somewhat more strongly. “My children,” he writes, “we must be aware of everything we do. All young animals have love and compassion. And if we remember that every creation was young once, we will never kill another life. We will not harm or attack any living creature” (Foltz, “Is Vegetarianism” 8). Some Sufi stories “offer lessons about compassion and renunciation” by focusing on refraining from killing anymals and eating their bodies (Foltz, Animals 80). For instance, Farid al-din 'Attar, a medieval Sufi poet, indicated that the eighth-century mystic, Rabi"a, was not dangerous to anymals because she was a vegetarian. This story tells how wild anymals were not afraid of Rabi"a, but when another mystic arrived, the anymals fled. He asks her why this might be, and Rabi"a responds with a simple question, “What did you eat today?” She then exposes his folly: consuming their bodies and then marveling that they fear him (Foltz, “Islamic” 273). Empathy disallows the unnecessary slaughter and the consumption of other living creatures (Hamid 259). Mystical traditions tend to turn spiritual energies inward. The Hadith qudsi (“tradition”) states, “The heart of man is the throne of God” (Stoddart 19, 81). It is through the heart that Allah touches the human soul (Stoddart 46–51). The Qur"an warns of unbelievers: “It is not their eyes that are blind, but their hearts” (22:46). Rumi understood religious life as moving from the heart, reaching outward toward Allah. He was an ascetic whose simple lifestyle and earthly service stemmed from his love for Allah. His actions were informed by belief in the oneness of all. He wrote: “Bread-giver, bread-taker,

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bread./The categories dissolve/into One water” (Mathnawi VI , 73). Whatever Rumi saw, whomever he helped, whatever existed—be it a common snipe or a calico clam—his actions were an expression of love for Allah. In the mystic’s eye we are all part of Allah, and Allah is part of all that exists. Who, knowing this, would harm even the smallest entity? Rumi longed to be close to the deity, and in his search for the divine he lived a life of love, discipline, and selfsacrificing service (Mathnawi III, 3435). Not only Rumi, but the Sufi tradition in general acknowledged the preeminent place of love in a life devoted to Allah. Ibn 'Arabi wrote: My heart has opened unto every form: it is a pasture for gazelles, a cloister for Christian monks, a temple for idols, the Ka"ba of the pilgrim, the tables of the Torah and the book of the Qur"an. I practice the religion of Love. (Stoddart 51)

In the Islamic tradition, a good heart is critical to salvation. No matter how far one might have fallen from the straight path, Hadith teaches that one with a heart filled with compassion and tenderness is likely to be spared (Schuon 9). While a cruel woman “was damned because she allowed her cat to die of hunger,” a prostitute “was saved because she gave a drink of water to a dog” (Schuon 9). Traditionally, many preachers when addressing the faithful in mosques, expound on human relations with nature, including anymals. They focus on ethical matters, “including kindness to animals . . . as the Prophet had commanded” (Nasr 92). The Islamic tradition, like most religious traditions, “is a way of living and being” (Ahmed 14). Moral ideals are to be applied by Muslims in day-today life: “[K]nowing the truth without doing it is vanity. The truth cannot be merely known, in the sense of being brought into mental awareness; it must be fully ‘known’ through realization in action” (Denny 12). Generosity and self-sacrifice are virtues in the Qur"an (Cragg, Islam 114). Believers are expected to tend the poor and needy, and those who limit their attentive hand to human beings fail to acknowledge the extent of their role as servants of Allah. Sa"di writes: His Angels order Man and Bird and Beast, The Fish, the Flies, the largest and the least; So plenteous is His bounty that the Ant Finds meat. . . .

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Goodness and gifts diffusing, feeding these, Because He is creation’s Lord, and sees All living things. (Book 21)

Islamic sacred writings reveal all of nature—all anymals—as created and tended by Allah and as common creatures along with humanity. Both Allah and the prophet Mohammed are portrayed as merciful and compassionate toward all of creation. Sufis view the world (including anymals), Allah, and human beings, as intimately interconnected. In the Islamic world, the role of Muslims is one of selfsacrificing submission and service to Allah, through creation, in our time on earth. Conclusion Kant writes that “the difference between the moral Christian and the moral non-Christian is that the former believes in a God . . . while the latter does not” (Gunn, “Traditional” 152–53). Moral ideals such as compassion, simple living, and self-sacrifice are older and more pervasive than any particular faith tradition—and can also be found among atheists. Yet down through the centuries religious institutions have been the primary bearers of moral guidelines and these guidelines have included protectionism. While one might find passages in any religious tradition to bolster arguments against protectionism, scripture and mythology generally advise compassionate attentive interaction with those that are at our mercy—not just toward human beings, but with regard to all living entities and toward nature as a whole. Indeed, it is much easier to champion protectionism using sacred texts from the world’s religions than it is to champion moral ideals such as freedom, human rights, or political and religious equality for women. Perhaps this is understandable, given that people are generally better off in any community or nation than are anymals. Pigs and cats are at our mercy, and if we suffer, they suffer yet more. If people are powerless, oxen and dogs are yet more powerless. Scripture, then, protects those beings who are most abused and vulnerable. Indeed, religions seem united in offering a spiritual path that forbids thoughtless, willful, selfish, and cruel acts—even those common still today amongst indigenous peoples, Christians, Hindus, Buddhists, Taoists, and Muslims.

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But this does not seem unusual. My colleague and friend, Reverend Kim Woeste, on reading the previous chapter on Linzey’s work, commented that protectionist theology “doesn’t offer anything radical or even surprising” (Unpublished). Protectionist teachings are central to Christian morality and common sense to those living a Christian life. Wouldn’t it surprise and disappoint even those who object to protectionism if they should go to church (temple, synagogue, or the mosque) and find that their minister (priest, rabbi, or imam) advocated exploitation of the weak, the infliction of unnecessary harm, or the taking of life for no better reason than to satisfy paltry pleasures?

PART FOUR

CONSISTENCY AND IMPARTIALITY IN APPLIED PROTECTIONIST PHILOSOPHY

CHAPTER SEVEN

SIX MEDICAL CASES: THE VALUE OF INNOCENT HUMAN LIFE

We have explored four prominent protectionist theories stemming from four different scholarly traditions. It is time to expose and address the flagrant moral inconsistency that lies like a great abyss between the Western ethical outlook and our day-to-day practices with regard to the lives and welfare of anymals and of human beings. Part III is an exploration of applied moral philosophy that is idealistic, extends across disciplines, and is grounded in consistency. While the focus of Part III is consistency, other common tools of applied ethics are also critical, such as casuistry and impartiality (as discussed in the first chapter). For the sake of consistency, in light of the absence of morally relevant distinctions between the human animal and “other” animals, morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life ought to be applied to anymals. Part III offers a consistent application of contemporary Western protection and preservation of “innocent” human life. This serves as an examination of generally accepted Western morality with regard to human life over and against morality with regard to other living entities. What would contemporary Western ethics concerning human life look like if extended to all life-forms? This portion of the book stands as a challenge for a more consistent ethic regarding the preservation and protection of life, as an inspiration to individuals inclined toward protectionism, and as a ruler by which to measure our commitment to “the sanctity of life.” Herein are presented six medical cases. While these cases seem extreme, they are not uncommon. There are thousands of patients in the Western world who languish in hospitals in conditions similar to the cases presented below (with the exception of the fifth case). These six cases serve to demonstrate a particular ethic with regard to human life— one that is backed by law. Because these examples reveal the extent of our commitment to human life, they serve as a model for extending contemporary Western ethics that protect and preserve human

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life to other life-forms not shown to be different in morally relevant ways. (This is the task of chapter 9.) We have examined partiality and inconsistency in each of four theories. It is time to establish, through current practices, that Western cultures generally hold “innocent” human life in extreme regard, and that medical practices uphold this high regard for life. We may then seek to consistently apply this standard to other living entities. From here forward, the reference to the preciousness of “human life” speaks specifically of “innocent” human life. In this sense, innocent does not imply guiltless. Those considered innocent are not known to have broken any laws or taken action against the state. Those not thought to be innocent are those convicted of or clearly guilty of crimes. For instance, those fighting a war against a given nation will not be thought innocent by that nation. Nor will those convicted of crimes such as murder. The lives of these people might be considered expendable because of the nature of their behavior. The lives of such individuals may not be protected. Western ethics regarding the protection of human life can be examined through laws concerning murder, euthanasia, suicide, and medical care. This section provides six examples of recent medical cases, all but one from North America, all but two from the United States, to exemplify the extreme value that Western countries place on innocent human life. While these are extreme cases, and while not all Western countries go to such remarkable extremes to preserve every human life, such cases are commonplace at least in the United States and Great Britain. Such cases provide ample evidence of the Western tendency to place an extremely high value on human life and to preserve and protect human life at almost any cost. I do not suggest that all human life is always invaluable in the Western world. This chapter merely establishes that it is, generally speaking, common medical procedure to protect and preserve “innocent” human life whenever possible. With this goal in mind, we begin with six medical cases.

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1. Six Medical Cases Case 1 Matthew Donnelly was a physicist dying of cancer. “As the disease progressed he lost his eyes, part of his jaw, his upper lip, his nose, and one of his hands. Two fingers of his other hand also had to be removed” (Rachels, “Euthanasia” 30). His remaining life would consist of extreme suffering and constant pain. Premature death was inevitable. Matthew was restricted to his hospital bed, with perhaps as much as a year to live. He desperately wanted to end his suffering, but when he asked to die, the law prevented hospital staff from complying. Finally, he asked his brothers, and after two months of pleading, his youngest brother obliged (Rachels, “Euthanasia”). He brought a .30-caliber pistol to the hospital and shot Matthew to death (Rachels, Elements 30). Matthew Donnelly suffered from an irreversible terminal illness, but general Western medical law and moral consensus holds that human life ought to be maintained at nearly any cost. Consequently, medical personnel maintained Matthew, though he was miserable and though he expressed his wish to die repeatedly. Despite being of sound mind, his repeated requests to die could not legally be honored. Western medical facilities are required by law to maintain human life, regardless of a patient’s wishes. Case 2 In Canada, Tracy Latimer, a twelve-year-old, suffered from cerebral palsy (Rachels, Elements 1–11). She weighed less than forty pounds, had roughly the mentality of a three-month-old baby, and was going through a series of invasive surgeries. Whatever Tracy’s mental state, she could certainly suffer. Physicians admitted that it was difficult to control her perpetual pain. One “Sunday morning while his wife and other children were at church, Robert Latimer put Tracy in the cab of his pickup truck and piped in exhaust fumes until she died” (Rachels, Elements 8). Robert said that he killed Tracy “because of the pain, and because there was no hope” (Rachels, Elements 10). Sometimes, when a human being is in pain with no hope of reprieve (except through death), life is allowed to slip away or even be terminated through such means as an overdose of pain medication. It is important to note that terminating such a life is illegal. When

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euthanasia is practiced in the United States, it is practiced quietly and without legal backing. Euthanasia comes to us from Greek, and literally means “good death.” A “good death” is often provided in cases of ongoing, deplorable pain and hopelessness such as that experienced by Tracy Latimer. Yet the importance of maintaining human life at nearly any cost in Western medical facilities generally overrides even an interest in escaping the most extreme and pointless suffering—suffering from which there will never be a release except through the end of life. Consequently, while many people had sympathy with the Latimers, and admitted that what Robert had done was perhaps most merciful for Tracy, the Supreme Court of Canada ruled that Robert Latimer must serve the mandatory sentence of twenty-five years for willfully killing a human being. As with U.S. law in Florida, Canadian laws reflect a general morality whereby human life may not be willfully ended when it might be preserved and sustained. Citizens in the West who might prefer to be dead (such as the painfully, terminally ill) generally do not have the option of euthanasia. In North America in particular, laws that guide what doctors may and may not do protect and preserve human life. In the case of Tracy Latimer, those with disabilities advocated for Tracy’s right to life out of fear that they, too, could become victims if someone thought their life was not worth living: “If we accept any sort of mercy killing, we will have stepped onto a ‘slippery slope’ down which we will inevitably slide, and in the end all life will be held cheap” (Rachels, Elements 10). While the slippery slope argument is hopelessly flawed, there are viable concerns behind dissenting voices. For those against active euthanasia, the risk in cases of extreme suffering is twofold. First, if that individual cannot communicate, as was the case with Tracy, she or he might be killed though actually preferring to live. Second, even if able to communicate, an individual in extreme pain might not be able to anticipate what she or he would prefer in years that lie ahead. It is for such reasons that Robert Latimer went to prison to serve a mandatory sentence, though his intentions were almost surely exemplary. The case of Tracy Latimer reveals an extreme value for human life; her loving parent was convicted and sentenced to twenty-five years for a mercy killing. Western morality, evidenced in laws, reveals that no one is permitted to willfully take a human life, even if those

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who love her most do not wish to perpetuate an existence that by all counts is miserable. Case 3 Samuel Linares, just fifteen months old, was happily enjoying a birthday party one moment and lying in a coma the next moment. He lay in a coma for nine months, partially brain dead, on a respirator. Samuel’s parents pleaded with hospital officials to disconnect the infant’s life support. Samuel’s father disconnected the respirator, but security personnel reconnected the little boy. Finally Samuel’s father carried a gun into the hospital and unplugged the respirator. Under the protection of the gun, he allowed his son to die in his arms. With tears streaming down his face, Mr. Linares sat holding his lifeless boy in his arms and continued to hold his boy for forty minutes after pulling the plug. He was charged with first-degree murder, but charges were ultimately dropped (Olen 265). After choking on a balloon, Samuel Linares was no longer viable; he could not breathe on his own—but his life was legally protected. Pain was not an issue, but he faced a bedridden existence, hooked to a respirator, with very little likelihood of ever regaining consciousness. Law required that Samuel’s biological existence be preserved because it was biologically human, and because it was medically possible to do so. Case 4 Theresa Ann Campo Pearson, “Baby Theresa,” was an anencephalic infant (Rachels, “Euthanasia” 1–11). She could not move any part of her body, she could not think or even feel. Her brain stem was not connected; major parts of her brain were missing. She could not live, so her parents wanted to donate her organs to other, viable babies, but the law would not permit extracting organs while Baby Theresa still breathed, and her heart still beat in her chest. She could only lie in her little bed and die, and that is exactly what she did for nine days. Anencephalic infants are sometimes called “babies without brains” because they lack a cerebrum and a cerebellum, and the top of their skull. Anencephaly is a defect in the closure of the neural tube during fetal development. The neural tube is a narrow channel that

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folds and closes between the third and fourth weeks of pregnancy to form the brain and spinal cord of the embryo. Anencephaly occurs when the “cephalic” or head end of the neural tube fails to close, resulting in the absence of a major portion of the brain, skull, and scalp. Infants with this disorder are born without a forebrain (the front part of the brain) and a cerebrum (the thinking and coordinating part of the brain). The remaining brain tissue is often exposed— not covered by bone or skin. A baby born with anencephaly is usually blind, deaf, unconscious, and unable to feel pain. Although individuals with anencephaly may be born with a rudimentary brain stem, the lack of a functioning cerebrum permanently rules out the possibility of ever gaining consciousness. The most that can be expected are rudimentary reflex actions (“NINDS’). Baby K, also an anencephalic infant, had difficulty breathing from birth. She was eventually weaned from the ventilator and transferred to a nursing home because no neonatal intensive care unit would accept her (“Anencephalic”). She had “several subsequent episodes of respiratory distress requiring rehospitalization and a tracheotomy” (“Baby K”). Her mother continued to seek aggressive care for Baby K. As a result, this anencephalic infant lived much longer than usual—two and a half years. Although she could never have consciousness, though her senses could never function, though doomed to die as an infant, she was maintained as long as possible—and accumulated medical bills of roughly $500,000 (“Anencephalic”). Medical personnel caring for Baby K sought relief from what seemed pointless medical procedures prolonging Baby K’s life, procedures that seemed futile and even inhumane (“Baby K”). But anencephalic infants are not technically dead, and as long as Baby K was alive, her life was legally protected—inviolable. For anencephalic infants, the brainstem can, at least temporarily, sustain vital signs of physical life. For this reason, anencephalic infants “do not meet the legal definition of death by neurologic criteria, which is a clear indication to discontinue life-support” (Perkin). Consequently, the U.S. District Court ordered the medical personnel caring for Baby K to “put her on a mechanical ventilator whenever she had trouble breathing” (Perkin). Permitting the hospital not to treat Baby K would “violate both the Rehabilitation Act and the ADA” (“Baby K”). Legally, anencephalic infants are protected; the court did not directly address the “issues of whether or not ventilator care was ‘futile’ for Baby K” (“Baby K”). But the

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ruling makes it clear that “health care providers who assume authority to discontinue treatment that they feel is futile” may be held liable for such a decision (“Baby K”). Roughly three hundred anencephalic infants are born alive annually (Rachels, Elements 2). “The prognosis for babies born with anencephaly is extremely poor. If the infant is not stillborn, then he or she will usually die within a few hours or days after birth” (“NINDS”). Even though the vast majority of anencephalic infants are aborted, the birth of such babies is not uncommon. Anencephaly “occurs in the United States about once in every 1,000 births, or 2,000 to 3,000 times a year. It is the most common major central nervous system malformation in the Western world, occurring in female babies twice as often as in males. Nobody knows what causes anencephaly” (Schaefer). Even those few that do live a little longer are nothing like other tiny humans. Anencephalic infants do not have the most fundamental functions of a human being—or of any normal mammal (Pluhar 3). Such babies will never be conscious, will never be aware that they exist, will never feel emotions—will never have any mental functioning of any kind—will never walk or swim or even move their head to the right or left, and will never feel pleasure or pain. There is no cure for anencephaly and no treatment (“NINDS”), and “there is general consensus that heroic measures should not be used to keep them alive. In fact, anencephaly may be one of the few medical conditions that all doctors agree is futile to treat” (“Anencephalic”). “The standard treatment is to keep anencephalic infants warm and fed as their organs fail. Death usually comes from respiratory failure, because the brainstem is not adequate to the task of regulating breathing” (Perkins). Traditionally, anencephalic infants . . . are allowed to die a natural death, undergoing no major medical interventions. On some occasions parents take these infants home to die. Usually, however, these infants die in some corner of an intensive-care unit. Death is characterized by repeated episodes of slowing of spontaneous breathing and of the heart rate, and associated lack of oxygen to the tissues. The dying process is so slow that the baby’s otherwise normal organs are damaged by the lack of oxygen and, therefore, by the time of death, the organs cannot be transplanted. (Schaefer)

“In the United States, about two thousand babies each year need organs, and the only suitable organs for tiny babies are those from

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other tiny babies” (“Anencephalic”). Baby Theresa’s parents recognized that their newborn would not live long, but that her body could be used to help a viable baby to live a much longer life than their little girl would. They volunteered her organs for transplant. But donating Baby Theresa’s organs was not possible. “Liveborn anencephalic infants usually have initial brain-stem activity, which means they are not legally dead” (Schaefer). Organs cannot be removed from human beings who are alive, and anencephalic babies, “though born dying, are not dead” (“Anencephalic”). Because anencephalic infants can survive for no more than a few weeks, they have been considered as possible organ donors for other infants. Under current law, however, they cannot be used as donors until their brain-stem activity ceases and the criteria for total brain death are thereby met. If anencephalic infants receive customary care, their solid organs usually undergo irreversible hypoxic injury during the process of dying and become unsuitable for donation by the time of death. (Schaefer)

United States “courts—all the way to the Florida Supreme Court” failed to declare Baby Theresa dead because she was “not technically brain dead,”—by definition anencephalic babies are alive (“Anencephalic”). “By the time Baby Theresa died, nine days later, it was too late for the other children—her organs could not be transplanted because they had deteriorated” (Rachels, Elements 2). The media presented a lively debate regarding the life and death of Baby Theresa. Ethicists commented unfavorably on her parents’ offer to donate her organs while she was yet alive. As Immanuel Kant famously notes, it is immoral to use another person solely as a means to one’s own ends. Western morality does not permit Baby Theresa, a living human being, to be used as a vessel for spare body parts. But would it be morally objectionable “to remove the infant’s organs, thereby causing her immediate death, to help other children?” (Rachels, Elements 2). Consider the hypothetical question posed by Dr. Leonard Bailey. Dr. Bailey, who was losing half of the babies accepted for heart transplantation because of a lack of donors, asked, “Why do we have to bury two children, when we could possibly bury only one?” (Schaefer). The disparity between the number of organs donated and the number of people waiting is enormous; the gap between transplanted organs

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and potential recipients is even greater. More than 80,000 people are on the national waiting list for an organ transplant. . . . Because of a lack of available organs, many people die waiting for a lifesaving transplant. A single donor can provide the “gift of life” for up to eight people, and enhance the lives of 50 or more through tissue donation. (Anton 30)

“Organs can be donated by a deceased person” with “prior permission, by the family of a deceased patient,” or by a living donor who sacrifices only body parts that one can live without (Anton 30). The key here is that the donors must be deceased or able to live without the body part they donate. Anencephalic infants do not qualify. Why, then, do parents such as those of Baby Theresa insist on trying to donate their baby’s organs? Loma Linda University Medical Center officials began studying the possibility of anencephalic infants becoming organ donors. They were motivated by two somewhat unrelated situations: an insufficiency of donors for babies accepted into Loma Linda’s infant-heart-transplant program (about 50 percent died waiting for donors), but also by an increasing number of parents of anencephalic infants wanting to donate their baby’s organs (literally hundreds of inquiries). These were loving parents who wanted to turn their personal tragedies into something good. They wanted to give “meaning” to their doomed babies’ brief lives by having their normal and healthy organs live on. (Schaefer)

Such meaning is not permissible. Even for anencephalic infants, it is not acceptable to terminate the life of an innocent human, once born. Though Theresa Ann Campo Pearson was not “alive” in the sense of experiencing life, though it was extremely costly to preserve Baby Theresa for nine days, though Baby Theresa simply could not live beyond a handful of days, though other lives might have been saved with her liver or her lungs, Baby Theresa’s “human” life was inviolable. Her life was held in such high esteem that she was preserved at all costs, as long as possible, even at the expense of the lives of other, more hopeful infants. One might reasonably argue that protecting infants such as Baby Theresa stems more from fear of death than respect for life, but in this country such cases are defended based on sanctity of life (human). Most interesting is that other babies were allowed to perish rather than benefit from the harvest of Baby Theresa’s body parts even though she was doomed—in the name of the sanctity of human life.

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If we hold life to be sacrosanct, why were Baby Theresa’s available organs not donated in the hope of saving other needy infants, infants that could have lived? The answer seems to lie not in numbers, but in individuals, and perhaps even in individual human rights: the right to life and the right to bodily integrity. Baby Theresa’s body parts are not available while she is still using them. There may be no individual person “present” in the body of Baby Theresa, but she is still entitled to her own body parts. Numbers that might be saved are irrelevant as long as she is “living” (or dying?) in her body. Morally, what matters—what we protect—is the individual life. Case 5 Nuclear testing caused birth defects in the Pacific Islands, where women gave birth to “jellyfish babies.” Descriptions of these “children” belie all common understanding of what it means to be human: “Literally, these babies look like blobs of jelly. These babies are born with no eyes, no heads and do not resemble human beings at all. They are twisted things that breathe for only a few hours. After death, they are buried right away” (Beacham). Another equally disturbing description relates, “These babies are born like jellyfish. They have no eyes. They have no heads. They have no arms. They have no legs. They are not shaped like human beings at all. But they are being born on the labor table. The most colorful, ugly things you have ever seen. Some of them have hairs on them. And they breathe” (Keju-Johnson 37). These babies have no chance at life, and if they did, their life would perhaps be more akin to that of a jellyfish than that of a human being. But these “colorful,” “ugly” beings are not thrown in the trash. They are permitted to exist as breathing blobs for the few hours that their biology will permit. They are not used for science when they cease to function as jelly blobs; they are buried. In our current ethical system “jellyfish babies” have moral standing simply because they are born of a human being. Case 6 Anthony Bland was a teenager in the summer of 1989, just seventeen years old, eagerly anticipating the start of a soccer match between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest. The match began before all the fans had entered, and a great crush occurred as they strained to see

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the start of the game. In the aftermath of the pushing and crowding, Anthony Bland lay brain dead on the ground, his lungs crushed, his brain deprived of oxygen, and only his brain stem still functioning (Singer, Writings 178). Lord Justice Hoffmann describes Bland’s condition as one of a “persistent vegetative state” in which he must be fed liquid food by a pump through a tube passing through his nose and down the back of his throat into the stomach. His bladder is emptied through a catheter inserted through his penis, which from time to time has caused infections requiring dressing and antibiotic treatment. His stiffened joints have caused his limbs to be rigidly contracted so that his arms are tightly flexed across his chest and his legs unnaturally contorted. Reflex movements in the throat cause him to vomit and dribble. . . . Anthony Bland has no consciousness at all. The parts of his brain which provided him with consciousness have turned to fluid. . . . His body is alive, but he has no life in the sense that even the most pitifully handicapped but conscious human beings have a life. But the advances of modern medicine permit him to be kept in this state for years, even perhaps for decades. (Airedale 350)

If medical authorities and closest of kin are in agreement, it is not uncommon for feeding tubes to be removed from such patients as Anthony Bland. All were in agreement—both family and doctors. The doctor reported his intentions of unplugging Anthony to the coroner, who informed the doctor that he could face criminal charges, perhaps even a murder charge, if he intentionally ended Bland’s life. The case went to court, and opponents of permitting Bland to die noted that legally such an act was murder. The case was appealed, and then appealed again, winding up in the House of Lords, where judges made their determination based on what was in the best interest of Anthony. British courts decided that because Anthony could not benefit from treatment—because he was incapable of being harmed or benefited, completely unaware of everything that happened to him, or in the world around him—doctors were not obligated to maintain his existence. In this groundbreaking case, British law “abandoned the idea that life itself is a benefit to the person living it, irrespective of its quality” and ruled that it was permissible for doctors to purposefully “bring about Bland’s death” (Singer, Writings 179–82). Courts determined that in fact Bland’s life was no benefit to him. Though Bland had not indicated what he would prefer in the event of such an injury, the courts determined that he could be treated by medical

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personnel in a way that would permit his death. While they could not actively kill Bland, they could withhold treatment, which would have the same effect (passive euthanasia versus active euthanasia) (Singer, Writings 183). The case of Anthony Bland offers stark contrast to the U.S. Supreme Court case of Nancy Cruzan. Though her parents sought permission to remove her feeding tube, the Missouri Supreme Court refused their request on the grounds that Nancy was not competent to make the decision herself. The court “could only give permission for the withdrawal of life-sustaining treatment if there was clear and convincing evidence that this was what Cruzan would have wanted. No such evidence had been presented to the court” (Singer, Writings 180). The U.S. Supreme Court upheld the ruling of the Missouri Supreme Court. Later, evidence of her wish to die in such a situation was produced, and Nancy was allowed to die. This case suggests that U.S. morality and law require that “lifesupport must be continued unless there is evidence indicating that the patient would not have wished to be kept alive,” while the British courts acted without knowledge of what Bland would have preferred (Singer, Writings 180). There are some limits, at least for some people, with regard to the sanctity of human life. Some innocent lives, under very specific conditions, are permitted to perish. They may not be killed, but they might be allowed to die. 2. Comparative Value of Human Life a. Comparison The above cases reveal a medical system, supported by a moral code and backed by law, that values and protects innocent human life whether or not the individual wishes to live, whether or not a family wishes the meaningless life of their loved one to be sustained against all odds, whether or not they are in tremendous pain, whether or not there is any hope of recovery, whether or not their maintenance is extremely expensive, and whether or not they are in any way a viable animal. These cases reveal that human life is protected and preserved simply because it is categorized as a human life. The case of Matthew Donnelly demonstrates that medical personnel cannot permit a patient to die even if the patient is an adult of sound mind who is suffering terribly, destined to die of cancer in

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the near future, and repeatedly requesting to die. The case of Tracy Latimer reveals that medical personnel maintain innocent human life even when the individual is emaciated, in extreme pain, and can never hope to share even the most fundamental attributes and life of a human being. Furthermore, even loving parents cannot intervene to stop their children from suffering and to stop what, even to them, seems a meaningless ordeal rather than a viable life. The third case, that of Samuel Linares, again shows that a loving parent is not permitted to make life-and-death decisions regarding her or his offspring, and that brain death is not a legitimate criterion by which to determine whether a human being will be sustained by medical practice. In this case even passive euthanasia was denied; medical personnel only needed to disconnect the boy from a respirator to terminate his life. Baby Theresa could not feel and had absolutely no mental functioning; her brain was absent, missing both cerebrum and cerebellum. Doctors determined that she would die in a matter of days or weeks, yet it was not permissible to take her life even to save other children. She was not sustained for the sake of her parents, and she herself could not have benefited in the least from her existence. Her brain stem allowed only for autonomic functioning. It would seem that those who base the sanctity of human life on superior mental function would have a hard time justifying the existence of so many anencephalic infants in our hospital wards. It appears that Baby Theresa was sustained because she was the product of a human being, and had the shape of a human being, even if she could never in any way function, think, or feel. We may offer other reasons as to why she was kept alive, but each one reduces to the simple fact that she was a human being. One cannot demonstrate any aptitude or potential in this hopeless infant, only that she was human. Both anencephalic infants and jellyfish babies highlight the difficulty of determining what it means to be “human.” While Baby Theresa had no possibility of a thought or a feeling, she was easily recognized as a human baby. Not so the jellyfish babies of the Pacific Islands, whose only claim to protection seems to have been that they were born of human mothers. The final case, that of Anthony Bland (compared with the Nancy Cruzon case), reveals differences between Western nations in dealing with brain-dead patients. In both countries the life of a braindead human being is protected and preserved by law. Only if tubes are disconnected quietly, only if a patient is allowed to die infor-

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mally, can such patients be allowed to slip out of existence. In rare cases such patients can legally be allowed to die, through legal proceedings initiated by the family and supported by medical personnel. But such patients can never be killed even if treatments will never improve conditions, even if such patients can never experience the benefits of treatment, and (in the United States) even if such care is clearly unwanted by the patient. Care can be terminated, permitting the patient to die, but patients can never be overtly euthanized. Death by starvation or suffocation—deaths brought on by withholding treatment—are necessarily slower and more painful (in the event that any sensations exist) than would be death brought on by outright killing. But Western morality and law covering medical practice do not permit killing patients under any condition. These cases highlight an ongoing dilemma in Western societies: When is it permissible to allow an innocent human being to die, and when, if ever, is it permissible to actively end the life of a patient—to kill an innocent human being? But this intriguing dilemma is not the focus of the present work, which asks a question that is less often raised, but which also cries out when examining these six cases: How is it morally acceptable to go to such measures to maintain innocent human life while killing healthy adults in the full bloom of their lives simply because they are from another species? On what morally relevant grounds do United States surgeons annually “transplant about sixty thousand pig heart valves into humans,” destroying the lives of every last one of these sixty thousand hogs in the hope of saving humans beings (“Medical”)? What line of reasoning might protect bodies such as that of Baby Theresa or Anthony Bland that are neither viable nor conscious, while annually killing six million anymals for “educational” purposes? How can medical personnel be required to sustain the painful and unnatural life of Matthew Donnelly or Tracy Latimer, how can we invest in the limp little body of Samuel Linares, while nine billion chickens are slaughtered annually to pacify our insatiable taste buds? How can we rationally defend such an outrageous disparity in our treatment of life? There is as yet no generally accepted, morally relevant distinction between all human beings (including anencephalic infants and Anthony Bland) and anymals. An ethic that protects Baby Theresa’s little body while permitting anyone to kill a perfectly viable turkey vulture or Hampshire piglet is prodigiously difficult to justify. Indeed, it is difficult to envisage what sort of morally relevant distinction might

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be found between anymals and all those human beings whose lives are currently protected (including Nancy Cruzan and Baby Theresa). Some are not conscious, and some never have been (nor can be) conscious (Baby Theresa). “Some of them cannot even be called ‘persons’ in the most minimal sense” (Pluhar 62). While Baby Theresa and the three hundred or so other anencephalic infants born in the United States each year are neither sentient nor conscious, the nine billion chickens killed annually are conscious and sentient. Baby Theresa cannot suffer. Every last chicken that died last year suffered. Why do we treat these hens with no regard while paying all due respects to these hopeless human infants? This disparity is usually defended by noting a given quality that is generally shared among humans—though not by all humans—but not thought to be part of the lives of anymals. Homocentrists often cite rationality, creativity, intelligence, language use, and autonomy. Aquinas believed that we were favored by God because we alone were made in God’s intellectual image; Descartes held that beings with minds are all capable of expressing thoughts linguistically. Again, however, as others have pointed out, none of these characteristics serves to distinguish all humans from all nonhumans. (Pluhar 46)

Patients such as anencephalic infants and the brain dead reveal that innocent human life is valuable in the West with or without language, rational thought, or even consciousness. Human life has moral standing even when bereft of every attribute that human beings have ever used to set themselves apart from other species, attributes that humans have used to justify protecting human life while exploiting and squandering the lives of anymals. Western ethics places supreme value on innocent human life, especially in comparison with all other lifeforms; innocent human life is protected to such a degree as to be truly incomparable with our treatment of any other form of life. In the United States, Baby Theresa is protected, but we can maim or kill anymals at will, so long as those anymals are neither protected as endangered, nor considered to be anyone’s “property.” Anymals can be maimed by tail or ear “docking,” the cutting off of horns or beaks, inbreeding, hormone treatments, branding, tagging, or by catch and release fishing, for example. The philosophical eyebrows of rational beings cannot help but be raised at such an inconsistent and (thus far) unjustified state of affairs.

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chapter seven Do we owe an irreversibly comatose, terminally ill human every medical effort needed to sustain such “life” as remains for him or her, while a nonhuman animal is due no special consideration whatever . . .? Should we make heroic efforts for brain-dead humans but, “without any moral compunction,” give lethal injections to blind dogs? Or cause calves suffering and death because we like their tender, “milk-fed” flesh? . . . [H]ow justified [can] such differential treatment . . . really be? (Pluhar 116)

Why does this remarkable moral disparity persist so many years after Darwin? How can we believe that every human life has special value, “sanctity,” or dignity that no other animal holds? Why are human beings still not classified as “animals” in Western law when the sciences have (cautiously) acknowledged for decades that we are animals? Why doesn’t our scientific classification reveal that Homo sapiens and chimpanzees are more closely related to one another than either one is to any other species? Why do so many of our “scientific” and educational materials discuss primates as if we were separate, distinct from all other primates? Microsoft’s encyclopedia defines primates as an order containing “humans, apes, which are the closest living relatives to humans, monkeys, and some less familiar mammals, such as tarsiers, lorises, and lemurs” (Burnie). Webster’s Dictionary defines “primate” as composed of human beings, apes, monkeys, lemurs, and others. Why not state the truth? The primate order consists of apes (including human beings), monkeys, tarsiers, and lorises? We are animals; we are apes. We are not other, outside, separate. Our DNA has given us away, exposed us as apes not unlike those we have caged and mocked in zoos and used for our scientific purposes. Why do not scientists honor our close affiliation—at least with other primates—by refusing to exploit them for research? Most human beings want to believe that they/we are different, separate, and special. Our belief “that human life has unique value is deeply rooted in our society and is enshrined in our law” (Singer, Writings 125). It is also evident in the sciences. It is fascinating reading about the history of Western scientific classifications of anymals. A book like that of Ernst Mayr, nearly one thousand pages long, reveals the various ways we have attempted to classify anymals, and how wrong we have often been. Part of this sordid history includes scientists that sought symmetry in their classification—they “thought that all taxa should have approximately the same number of species” because

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“taxa of highly uneven size seemed too capricious to be worthy of the planning of the creator” (241). While theology muddied the work of some, arrogance clouded the eyes of others who assumed that there was a scale of perfection, with some anymals being “more perfect” than others—and with human beings at the top. Understanding evolution scarcely affected this assumption; the language was simply altered so that “more perfect” became “higher,” or “more highly evolved.” This led to further complications, however: “Why should fish be higher than the honeybee? Why should mammals be higher than birds? Is a parasite higher or lower than the free-living form from which it was derived?” (Mayr 242). Mayr attests to how “uncertain our understanding of degrees of relationship among organisms still is” in spite of years of work in the field (217). Scientific justifications of human supremacy have worn thin as we learn more about anymals, and more about the human animal. But the realities of Darwin’s work, while taking hold in the sciences, seem to have no affect on our behavior; we continue to behave as though we are a very special species, elevated beyond all calculation in the world of life. Christianity is a cornerstone and sustaining force for our contemporary outlook. Christians often believe that humans, and only humans, are made in the image of God, and that only humans have intrinsic value. Many people justify this ongoing flagrant moral disparity on religious grounds, convinced that human life, “no matter how feeble or impaired, is a sacred gift from God” (Olen 268). Why a just and loving god would instigate such a discrepancy in the value of creation is difficult to comprehend, but this justification, however weak, remains a common explanation for the status quo, at least in the Western world. Current convictions regarding the place of humans in the world put us on an entirely different plane. In this view all other life-forms are here for our purposes, and not only can be handled as we so choose, but ought to be dominated and used for our benefit because human beings are the apex of all life. Their worth is measured in terms of human utility. Small wonder there is such a flagrant disparity between our respect for the lives of innocent human beings and our treatment of all other life-forms.

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b. Do We Really Value Human Life? Some might argue that human life is not held in such high esteem as the above six cases suggest: Our financial choices do not support this assertion, abortion is permitted, capital punishment is legal in Western nations, and we continue to send soldiers off to kill and be killed. i. economics One might reasonably argue that medical practices in the above six cases have nothing to do with the value of human life, and everything to do with the value of a hospital bed. Perhaps the cost of such medical care is a benefit in capitalistic countries and the maintenance of innocent human life merely incidental. Medical professionals will, no doubt, deny such allegations, but can they honestly believe that they have Tracy Latimer’s best interests in mind? Did they operate on her distorted body out of respect for this dilapidated, pain-ravaged little girl? What of Matthew Donnelly? And what of the other infants that perished while Baby Theresa languished in her crib? There seem to be other factors at stake, and no doubt capitalism, greed, and profits have some effect on medical practices. Likely economic forces aside, the point is not that we are morally exemplary in handling human life. The point is that Western morality and law tend to hold “innocent” human life to be incalculably precious while showing no regard for any other form of life, and that this flagrant disparity cannot be rationally defended. While some of those who profit from forcing intensive medical care on people like Matthew Donnelly may be greedy (or malevolent) rather than benevolent, the laws behind these medical practices reveal a deeper and wider commitment, a commitment of the larger Western community to protect vulnerable patients from being hastily dispatched— a commitment to preserve and protect innocent human life. Humans are thought to have rights, and the right to life is perhaps the most fundamental of all human rights. After all, do you want someone else to decide whether or not you ought to continue living? ii. we do not invest in life Still others might argue that the United States does not value life— if we did, we would quit investing in bombs and make basic med-

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ical care available to all citizens. Every day, every hour, life-anddeath decisions are made in Western countries based on the availability of resources such as life-sustaining machines and expensive medicines. Every day citizens suffer because of the high cost of medical care, and because of the ever-widening gap between the rich and the poor. Do we really respect human life? Bombs are not the only example of investments that indicate a lack of respect for human life. Starvation kills millions of otherwise perfectly viable human beings while citizens of Western nations dine out on the many legs of a squid, diet to lose the extra pounds they have gained by eating large portions of flesh from cattle and pigs, and engage in rigorous exercise programs to burn off excess calories consumed. If we value life, why do we not prevent human hunger worldwide? These charges are valid, but they do not harm this overarching assertion: Innocent human life is held in extremely high value relative to the lives of anymals. Indeed, the word “extremely” does not seem strong enough to describe the current situation. Human life is not everywhere and always respected at the level evidenced by the above six cases. These cases reveal that Western medical practice and laws regulate the protection and preservation of innocent human life, no matter if they wish to live, no matter if they are in pain, no matter if there is any hope of recovery, no matter if they are viable. Respect for human life is not always so readily available, but these six cases reveal an ethic of respect for innocent human life, a respect that has led to medical practice, backed by laws, that protect and preserve innocent human life in nearly any condition where it is possible to do so. iii. abortion With regard to abortion, the question is not whether human life is of value, but rather what constitutes human life. Is a newly fertilized egg to be considered a human being, worthy of all the same protections that you, the reader, are granted by the Western legal system? Is the single cell from which a human child develops to be considered a full-fledged human being? Is this single living cell’s life to be granted all the same protections that your life, or my life, is to be granted? Is this single cell to be granted as much protection as the mother, whose life might be endangered by that cell? The question of abortion is not a disagreement about the value of innocent

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human life; it is a question of whether or not a single cell, an embryo, or a fetus, is a “human being.” In the Western world innocent human life is always protected and preserved, but in the case of abortion, it is not always clear what constitutes a human life. Abortion also balances the rights of the mother with those of the developing embryo. Inasmuch as we are unsure when the developing organism inside the mother ought to be considered a human being, complete with human rights, we are certain that the mother is a human being, protected by human rights. iv. we kill people Capital punishment, and our predilection for warfare, situations in which human life is willfully destroyed, are distinct in morally significant ways from our destruction of innocent human life, and are distinct from the killing of anymals. In the case of capital punishment and warfare the individuals killed have moral standing. They can only be killed because both the convicted criminal and the enemy soldier are judged to have made decisions that warrant revoking the standard protection of human life. Criminals who fall victim to the death penalty have moral standing and are only executed on the basis of what is assumed to be their previous wrongdoings. Typically, extensive legal proceedings determine their fate. There is a distinct difference between killing someone because she or he is convicted of committing a heinous crime after extensive legal proceedings and the routine killing of anymals that are by all admissions innocent. Convicted criminals are a small subset of human beings. They go through a rigorous process to determine guilt. They are at all times assumed to have moral standing and are only put to death in carefully prescribed ways if convicted. In contrast, we have decided that anymals have no moral standing and, consequently, can be exploited and executed at will. Any innocent Ayrshire cow may be killed by anyone who “owns” her or by anyone given the goahead to do so (by her “owner”). Her life is for sale. In contrast, innocent human beings may never lawfully be slaughtered under any condition by any individual. This is the point: Any innocent cow may be killed; not one innocent human being may be killed. There you have it. Capital punishment is not a case against the value of innocent human life, nor does it in any way compare with our treatment of anymal life.

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As with convicted criminals, soldiers have moral standing. Soldiers are assumed to have jeopardized their right to have their lives protected and preserved by engaging in warfare. As convicted serial killers are thought to have forfeited their right to life, soldiers are considered guilty of being in opposition to a given state. Were those same individuals not soldiers fighting against Western countries, but visitors to Western lands, their lives would be granted full protection because every innocent human being has moral standing. In contrast, anymals have no moral standing, and though blameless, are the targets of human exploitation. Warfare and capital punishment both suggest that human life is not everywhere and always protected and preserved by Western nations. In Iraq, the United States (in particular) killed civilians as though they were mannequins in a test scenario simply to “defend our way of life” ( Jhally, Ellis, G. Smith, Bush). Morally speaking, “our way of life” is indefensible in a world of limited resources in which the United States uses considerably more than its share of the wealth. Such wars are not consistent with respect for human life, any more than is our acceptance of world hunger. These events demonstrate that not all innocent human life is respected in all cases. The important point is not that we always respect human life, but that innocent human life is held in extremely high value relative to the lives of anymals—even though anymals are inherently innocent with regard to human morality and law. Our disregard for the lives of certain people at certain times in certain places does not compare with our lack of moral and legal protection for the lives of anymals. Humans, but not anymals, are assumed to have moral standing. The lives of innocent humans, but not the lives of innocent anymals, are protected and preserved. v. rationalizations Those who attempt to blame the innocent in the hope of justifying their actions sometimes accuse anymals of beings stupid, or dumb, and therefore deserving what they get—or don’t get—during their shortened lifetime. Cattle are so dumb, chickens are so stupid—how can we be concerned about their innocent lives? This embarrassing response is a form of “blaming the victim” (Davis, “Holocaust”). An apt example of blaming the victim is when a woman is said to deserve sexual assault because of her intellect, attitude, behavior,

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appearance, or choice of clothing, for example. Anymals do not “deserve” to be treated like chattel; it is simply a habit of ours to do so. While human life cannot be taken without just cause, there is generally thought to be no need to explain the killing of anymals. This is because the former are granted moral standing while the latter are not. Conclusion While world hunger and warfare may cast serious doubt on the depth and extent of our commitment to innocent human life, for citizens living in Western countries there can be no doubt that human life is generally viewed as priceless, and anymal life as cheap and expendable. We debate whether fetuses can be killed in the last trimester, we ponder whether lethal injection is an acceptable method of capital punishment, we consider whether the death penalty is acceptable even for the most dangerous of criminals, and engaging in warfare is always controversial. We hold human life in such high value that we ponder whether those who are suffering terribly, those who are soon to die and wish to die, will be allowed to die. Meanwhile, we unceremoniously slaughter millions of white leghorn chickens for no better reason than that someone will pay to eat their fleshy little bodies; we euthanize millions of “pets” annually because human beings want their children to witness the miracle of life—puppies and kittens born into the world only to be killed by the hundreds of thousands because no one wants them. (We do not like our children to witness the horror of euthanizing millions of cats and dogs, however.) We even shoot hundreds of innocent animals for sport and then mount their body parts on the wall as decorations. It is permissible to experiment on any other primate but people are shocked and horrified to learn of painful or deadly experiments that have been done on unwitting human beings, such as the Tuskegee syphilis studies (Regan, Animal 67–89). This moral disparity raises a perplexing dilemma in the case of primates. At some point in history a nonhuman primate gave birth to a “human being.” If we could identify this historic moment of transition, and the primates involved, our current ethical standards would deny moral standing to the parent, while granting moral sta-

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tus to the offspring (a “human”). The mother or father could be exploited and destroyed for science, while the “human” child would be entitled to experiment on their parents. How can such a moral system be defended? But this conundrum is the least of our worries. The six cases presented above reveal a flagrant inconsistency in contemporary Western morality. Human patients can only be permitted to die if they cannot be saved, or in very specific instances, in very carefully monitored ways. Even if a human being is not viable, even if a human being feels no pain and has no brain waves, even if a human being is terminally ill and in terrible pain, and even if a human life can only be maintained at tremendous cost to society, Western nations have a moral imperative and legal requirement to preserve innocent human life. The six cases presented are but a few examples of the extreme limits to which Westerners take their collective regard for innocent human life on a day-to-day basis. In most instances any and all innocent civilian lives are protected and preserved, even at great cost. “Contrary to the best attempts of several fine philosophers, there is no way to avoid the conclusion that if sentient, conative humans are highly morally significant, then many nonhuman animals are so as well” (Pluhar xiii). What would this extreme value for innocent human life look like if extended, for the sake of consistency, to all life not proven to be different in morally relevant ways? 3. Western Ethics and the Value of Human Life in Practice Consistency and impartiality are critical to sound applied philosophy. Casuistry is a respected tool of philosophical inquiry (see chapter 1). Each indicates that like cases should be treated in a like manner. In almost all instances, regardless of abilities such as language or reasoning, regardless of functioning (either mentally or biologically in the sense of viability), the moral imperative is to preserve and protect innocent human life. In fact, even if human beings beg to be allowed to die, or beg that their loved ones might be allowed to die, laws and medical practice dictate that human life ought to be preserved even against such wishes. We have already explored what these cases do not demonstrate—

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they do not demonstrate that there are no conditions under which human life might be destroyed, though every human life is granted moral and legal standing in the Western world. What do these six examples teach with regard to ideal Western morality and the preservation of innocent human life? First, in each case it was possible to keep the individual alive. Perhaps not for long, perhaps not without suffering, and perhaps only at great cost, but it was humanly possible to keep these beings functioning biologically. The above medical examples are proof of a moral precedent, backed by law, that prioritizes the preservation of human life whenever possible—not whenever humanely possible, only when humanly possible. Whether or not an individual wishes to be kept alive, whether or not keeping an individual (such as Baby Theresa) alive will cause greater suffering (to other individuals, such as those babies that could not receive her organs), an individual life will be preserved and protected in its own right, whenever possible. Second, these cases do not speak for all situations. There are a host of medical cases in which physicians allow patients to die quietly either at the request of the family involved, on their own cognizance, or at the request of the patient. “Giving medicine to relieve suffering, even if it risks or causes death, is not assisted suicide or euthanasia; nor is withdrawing treatments that only prolong a painful dying process” (Hendin). Such practices are legal and morally acceptable in most Western nations (Hendin). Additionally, nations such as the Netherlands and Belgium have legalized euthanasia (see Euthanasia.com for more information.) In the Netherlands physicianassisted suicide is available for patients suffering from “intolerable suffering that cannot be relieved” (Hendin). In the Netherlands, consent is not even a barrier; fully one “quarter of physicians stated that they ‘terminated the lives of patients without an explicit request’ from the patient. Another third of the physicians could conceive of doing so” (Hendin). Similar to the Netherlands, Oregon state law officially permits doctors to prescribe medication that will end the life of the patient— but only in very specific situations, under tight regulations. Receiving physician assistance in ending one’s life in Oregon is not as easy as opponents of the state’s law might assume. To qualify for the program, a patient must be an Oregon resident, at least 18 years of age, and terminally ill with a prognosis of death within six months or

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less. In addition, the attending physician must be licensed in Oregon, and must be willing to participate. . . . After a patient requests an end-of-life prescription, the request must be repeated at least 15 days later. That request must be followed by a written request that is signed by two witnesses, one of whom may not be related to the patient. A consulting physician is then called to confirm the diagnosis and prognosis and to determine whether or not the patient is able to make and communicate health care decisions for themselves. If the patient is mentally impaired, a psychological examination is ordered. Before the attending physician may write the end-of-life prescription, the patient must be informed of alternatives, including hospice care and palliative treatments. If the patient persists in requesting the prescription, the physician must wait another 48 hours before writing it and may request that next-of-kin be notified. Finally, the pharmacist who receives the prescription has the right to refuse to fill it. (Sherer)

Employers such as the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs and Catholic hospitals, do not permit their physicians to participate, thereby limiting availability of this option to certain categories of patients. Given these strict regulations, complete with a handful of limiting factors, it is not surprising that only one patient out of ten who request physician-assisted suicide actually end their lives with a physician’s care (Sherer). What is perhaps most interesting is that many patients who do receive a physician’s assistance still do not choose to end their life. Oregon’s law seems to provide a sense of security of what one can choose to do, rather than a certainty that patients, given the option, will end their lives. Physician-assisted suicide seems to be about choices, options, controlling one’s own fate. “From 1997 to 2002, 129 patients died as a result of taking end-of-life prescription medications, accounting for less than one in every 1,000 deaths in Oregon. According to the Oregon Department of Human Services, [in 2002] 58 patients received lethal prescriptions, but only 36 died as a result of using them. . . . Another 16 died of their illnesses, and six remained alive at the end of the year” (Sherer). Even so, the fate of Oregon law permitting physician-assisted suicide is by no means secure, and the debate is ongoing (for updates and more information, see http://www.euthanasia.com/ or http:// www.religioustolerance.org/euthanas.htm). “If the federal government has its way, however, physicians writing such prescriptions could face

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loss of prescribing privileges under the Controlled Substances Act” (Sherer). As it stands, the Oregon law contradicts the American Medical Association’s Code of Medical Ethics, which states that “[p]hysician-assisted suicide is fundamentally incompatible with the physician’s role as a healer, would be difficult or impossible to control, and would pose serious societal risks” (Sherer). Nor is there any indication that other states will follow Oregon’s lead. While the debate is ongoing, no other state has followed Oregon’s lead. Voters in California, Michigan, Maine and Washington state have rejected assisted-suicide ballot measures, and the Maine legislature defeated a bill that would have implemented an Oregon-style plan. Forty states explicitly forbid physician-assisted suicide; six states prohibit it through common law. Only three states other than Oregon— North Carolina, Utah and Wyoming—do not have laws prohibiting physician-assisted suicide. (Sherer)

Resistance to physician-assisted suicide in the United States is consistent with commonly accepted and established morality in the United States. “The biggest reason for opposing [physician-assisted suicide] is that suicide is not morally acceptable; that it’s not an appropriate role for a health care provider and that it is not morally acceptable for people to choose to hasten their death” (Sherer). The United States is similar to most Western nations; “The World Health Organization has recommended that governments not consider assisted suicide and euthanasia until they have demonstrated the availability and practice of palliative care for their citizens. All states and all countries have a long way to go to achieve this goal” (Hendin). There are also inconsistencies in the Western commitment to the preservation of human life such as those brought up previously: world hunger, disease, and warfare. But none of these exceptions negates our general moral commitment to protect and preserve innocent human life, as evidenced in medical law and practice. Third, there are certain human actions that render humans no longer innocent, in which case their lives may become expendable. This is evidenced in the death penalty and by the killing of enemy soldiers in warfare. Western ethics permits life to be taken for the cause of self-defense. Human life can be destroyed when such a life is not considered innocent, when that loss of innocence is of a critical or extreme nature, such as violently attacking another individual, murdering an innocent human being, or taking up arms against the state.

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Fourth, there is some dispute over what constitutes a human life; abortion is controversial but remains legal, while anencephalic infants are considered inviolable. There is no conclusive agreement as to where lines might be drawn, but there is a distinctive tendency to protect more rather than less of those that might be considered human. Fifth, since we have failed to establish any morally relevant distinction between all human beings and anymals, consistency requires that we universalize our ethic of protecting innocent life. We are obliged to treat like cases in a like manner and extend our high regard for human life to anymals. What is good for the girl is good for the gander. If innocent human life is worthy of preservation in almost any situation, so is other innocent life that is not shown to be different in morally relevant ways. Toward this end, the next chapter presents the Minimize Harm Maxim. The case of Baby Theresa is particularly important in this endeavor because the birth of anencephalic infants is ongoing and predictable (whereas jellyfish babies do not normally occur in a certain predictable percentage of births). Furthermore, anencephalic infants exemplify our extreme regard for the lives of Homo sapiens as such because anencephalic infants have no possibility of feeling, thinking, acting, or even surviving. They are not viable, are in no measure what any of us know to be human—except in general appearance— yet they are provided a warm bed and food for as long as they might survive. With this in mind, we explore the concept of conatus, biological persistence.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MINIMIZE HARM MAXIM

In this chapter a moral maxim, the Minimize Harm Maxim, is presented and defended as a theory rooted in the consistent application of our high esteem for human life. The Minimize Harm Maxim includes three premises that culminate in an ethical maxim followed by four subpoints. Chapter 9 applies these premises and maxims to five pressing protectionist problems and considers two hypothetical scenarios. The Minimize Harm Maxim is simply a consistent extension of contemporary morality—this maxim extends generally accepted morality with regard to human life to all creatures that have not been demonstrated to be different in morally relevant ways. Established Western moral standards generally protect human life even at tremendous cost. If the Minimize Harm Maxim seems extreme, then contemporary standards for protecting human life are extreme. If this maxim seems idealistic, then we seek to protect human life idealistically. If it seems outrageous, perhaps our moral accountability to human life is indeed outrageous . . . or perhaps this maxim only seems outrageous because we are not accustomed to respecting the lives of anymals. Finally, even if this moral maxim seems extreme, idealistic, or outrageous, the conspicuous absence of any morally relevant distinction between all human beings and anymals, and the importance of philosophic consistency, require serious consideration of the Minimize Harm Maxim. Premise One: All Living Entities Have Moral Standing 1. Conatus, Spinoza, and Theology Conatus defines living individuals (Scruton 457). Webster’s Dictionary explains conatus as “the force in every animate creature,” a force that works “toward the preservation of its existence.” In Baruch Spinoza’s Ethics (1632–1677), conatus is the essence of every living entity: “Everything . . . endeavors to persist in its own being”; such

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endeavoring “is nothing else than the actual essence” of a living entity (Spinoza III, VI and VII). In the writings of Spinoza, conatus is virtue, which is power, which is understanding; knowledge of God is the greatest understanding one can have (Spinoza XXV). Spinoza reasons that God, being omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent, must be everything: “Whatever is, is in God, and nothing can exist or be conceived without God” (Spinoza I, XV). If God is everything, then nothing is separate from God and there can be nothing outside of the divine. The Almighty dwells in all things, and each entity acts necessarily according to the will of God: “[A]ll things are determined by the necessity of divine nature for existing and working in a certain way” (Spinoza I, XXIX). Spinoza concludes that all of nature—all that exists—must be God, and must be set out to function in a particular way by the divine: God and the universe are one and the same (Spinoza I, XV). Like Socrates and Plato, Marx and Gandhi, Spinoza was interested in philosophy as a way of life (Baird 105). Once he deduced that God is all, he was committed to a life that revealed this understanding. Spinoza notes that, since we share in divine nature, we should “act only from God’s command” (Spinoza II, IV A). Love and morality formed the basis for the application of Spinoza’s philosophy in his daily life. Spinoza asserts that the motivating power behind all of our actions is self-preservation—conatus understood as “endeavor” (Spinoza III, VI and VII). “The very essence of a human being is desire . . . a striving by which a man tries to preserve his existence” (Spinoza IV, XXV). Furthermore, the highest virtue is conatus (Spinoza IV, XXII): “The more each one seeks what is useful to him, that is, the more he endeavors and can preserve his being, the more he is endowed with virtue” (Spinoza IV, XX). He reaches this conclusion because “[n]o one can desire to be blessed, to act well, or live well, who at the same time does not desire to . . . exist” (Spinoza IV, XXI). For Spinoza, striving to exist is the foundation of virtue, and to “act absolutely according to virtue is nothing else . . . than to act under the guidance of reason, to live so, and to preserve one’s being (these three have the same meaning) on the basis of seeking what is useful to oneself ” (Spinoza IV, XX). Every living entity, according to Spinoza, is perpetually engaged in the endeavor to persist, to maintain the actualization of its own

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essence which is divine (Spinoza IV, LVII). Because this endeavor to persist is synonymous with God, each living entity finds happiness dependent on its success in existing. Our behavior is guided by conatus, guided by God, and this impulse for self-preservation brings us back full circle to understanding, the highest form of which is knowledge of God (Spinoza IV, XXVIII; Schacht 93). Conatus—the endeavor to persist shared by all living entities—is the power of God (Shahan 131). Spinoza viewed God as the root source and ultimate means of self-preservation. In Spinoza’s writing, conatus is a natural and virtuous pathway to happiness, power, understanding, and the knowledge of God (Spinoza IV, XXV). For Spinoza, knowing that God figuratively stands behind our endeavor to survive, and knowing that God is present in all other beings in a similar way, ought to influence what we do. 2. Living Entities and Conatus “All living beings have their own well-being. Each living creature has life, which can be destroyed or benefited, and thus each living creature has its biological good” (Vilkka 24). All living entities have what Spinoza describes—conatus. Both plants and animals have a drive to maintain integrity or unity. Conatus is fundamental to the “biological nature” of living beings (McGinn 81–99). Conatus, Webster’s Dictionary notes, is “an effort or striving” to maintain existence, is present in all living entities, and only in living entities. Any being lacking this basic biological drive to persist is not likely to survive for long—probably not long enough to reproduce. In a world where only the most fit survive, conatus prevents entities from falling prey to other entities, and from death by a host of possible means, including starvation. Pulling back from a hot flame, an adrenaline rush when we are frightened, and digestion are all basic forms of conatus in action. Feedback systems, rooted in self-preservation, are indicative of conatus: When anything starts to go wrong, some sensory device perceives the trouble and sends a message . . . that acts to set things right. If sunshine strikes your skin cells, with possible overheating or damage from the ultraviolet component, heat receptors may notify your brain, which then stimulates muscles to act in ways that cause you to walk to a

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chapter eight shady tree. The skin cells themselves can perceive the problem and respond by making the pigment melanin, another way of putting vulnerable cells in the shade. If blood sugar drops to a functionally deficient level, it is perceived and corrective measures are taken by the conversion of glycogen or fat reserves into sugar, or perhaps just by eating. (G. Williams 120)

Because of conatus, entities take in food and water, reproduce, and have various methods of fending off predators, from thorns to fangs. Animals and plants, unlike stones or buildings, computers or machines, maintain themselves; they have mechanisms to avoid injury, reduce threats, and restore themselves when damaged. Any living entity’s life “consists precisely in a struggle to perform these functions, to actualize this nature, to fulfill these needs, to maintain this life” (Rollin 39). Baby Theresa did not have much else going for her, but she did have conatus; her tiny body continued to function in a manner that maintained her existence as long as possible. Conatus highlights the most basic sense of what it is to have an interest—to have something be in one’s good; conatus lies at the root of moral standing among human beings. Every living being has conatus, basic biological interests, the satisfaction of which will allow them to persist as entities in their own particular ways. Conatus, as it turns out, is the most basic morally critical similarity shared by all living entities. Conatus as a criterion for moral standing includes all living entities because all such entities have an interest in survival whether or not human beings believe that they can feel, and whether or not human beings determine that such animals have a given mental capability. The Minimize Harm Maxim is rooted in the consistent application of morality regarding the protection and preservation of innocent human beings. Given that there are no morally relevant distinctions between human beings such as Baby Theresa and a quaking aspen or spiny lobster (except that the aspen and the lobster are viable), consistency and casuistry require that these cases be handled in a similar manner. Aspens and lobsters ought to be granted moral standing and their biological urge to persist ought to be protected and preserved. This protection ought to be extended to all living beings because all living beings have conatus, while Baby Theresa has nothing but conatus to indicate that her life ought to be sustained. Given medical law with regard to anencephalic infants, conatus must be viewed as sufficient to warrant moral standing in Western

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morality. For this reason and for no other reason, the Minimize Harm Maxim revolves around conatus, biological persistence. The life of an entity with conatus, an entity able to persist biologically, ought to be protected and preserved because anencephalic infants are protected and preserved by Western law, as rooted in Western morality. This is not just an unusual event, but a practice that is ongoing every day of the year. The Minimize Harm Maxim is built around the consistent application of Western ethics concerning innocent human life, extending that protection to all life-forms that have not been shown to be different in morally relevant ways. 3. Epistemological Problems and Mental Attributes Conatus is in many ways similar to what others have referred to as teleology, the “drive, force, or urge possessed by a thing which is directed towards the preservation of its own being” (Runes 61). Arthur Schopenhauer, in The Will to Live, writes that the will to live is critical for the survival of species, that this force is manifest in sexual impulses. Schopenhauer views “will” as a force that acts and strives in nature; for Schopenhauer, will is the vital force. In its most basic form teleology is perhaps synonymous with conatus, but Webster’s Dictionary indicates that teleology implies “design,” “purpose,” “will,” or “final cause.” For instance, Albert Schweitzer, known for his all-encompassing ethic of reverence for life, based his moral code on “will to live.” “Will” is a notoriously difficult concept to define. Many authors have considered “will” to be “a conscious mental activity . . . unlikely to occur in plants, micro-organisms, and other life-forms that evidently lack the neurophysiological equipment to engage in conscious mental activity” (Warren 34–35). Yet Schweitzer included all of nature in his moral universe—even snowflakes. Can a snowflake, by any stretch of the imagination, have “will”? Teleology is often viewed as having an element of “will,” such as a “will to live,” but “will” is vague and often used to describe such different phenomenon as intent, inclination, and biological urge. Furthermore, assessing mental function is problematic. It is extremely difficult, if not impossible, for philosophers (or biologists, or psychologists) to determine mental capacity or to ascertain mental states. Theories dependent on “will” must grapple with the epistemological difficulties of assessing mental attributes.

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People have often been biased in assessing mental attributes. J. S. Mill epitomizes the pitfalls of bias in his famous comparison of human and porcine: “It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied” (18). How does Mill know the mental, emotional, or psychological states of pigs (barracudas, whirligig beetles, sea drums, etc.)? Mill’s generalities and assumptions carry little philosophical strength. The fact that Mill’s vacuous assumption has been oft quoted merely highlights human bias, our tendency to believe that our own existence is somehow more valuable—and therefore more justified— than that of any other form of life. Others, along the lines of Rene Descartes, have simply denied any mental attributes to anymals, though this runs contrary to reason: The rat could be a little machine with no feelings and our bodies could also be machines that work in the same ways, but it just so happens that we have conscious experiences and rats do not. This is possible but distinctly less plausible than the alternative view that rats have not just their physiology and behaviour in common with us when it comes to eating but have conscious experiences associated with satisfying their hunger too. (M. S. Dawkins 163)

Those who have not pointed to “will” have sometimes pointed to “desire” as morally relevant. But those who argue that it is wrong to kill a being that has a “desire” to live have yet to define what they mean by “desire.” How can we identify or measure “desire” in other entities any more than we can identify or measure “will”? The mental state of a boll weevil, chinchilla, or human animal are extremely difficult, if not impossible, to determine, and humans have at times proven unfit even to assess far more basic attributes of anymals, such as sentience. Such epistemological quandaries suggest that “desire,” “will,” and any other mental state, while perhaps morally relevant, are not suitable criteria by which to determine moral standing. In spite of the problems entailed in assessing mental states, most protectionist philosophers consider mental attributes central to moral standing. DeGrazia writes, “[T]he greater a being’s cognitive complexity, the more moral weight her interests should receive” (249). Philosophers (including Regan and Singer) tend to include consciousness in their assessment of moral standing, generally favoring anymals with larger brains and those we suppose to have more complex mental functioning. Peter Singer writes: “Apart from individuals whose lives are so

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miserable that they do not wish to continue living, the only individuals likely to have no preferences for continued life will be those incapable of having such preferences because they are not self-conscious and hence are incapable of conceiving of their own life as either continuing or coming to an end” (Animal 9). Singer assumes that mental preference for continued existence is morally relevant (Animal 254): The “obviously relevant issue is whether nonhuman animals have the same interest in continued life as normal humans” (Animal 6). According to Singer, if they have such an interest, their interest must be accorded equal consideration with other comparable interests. In Singer’s view certain life-forms (such as those that have little or no gray matter) cannot be assumed to have a preference for (or interest in) existence, and they are therefore not morally considerable. Problems in this assertion become obvious if it is rewritten to acknowledge this more basic urge to persist, conatus. By adding the word “conscious” to preferences, as he indicates, and by replacing “preference” with “biological interest” (conatus) we can more clearly see what seems a serious flaw in Singer’s proposal: “[T]he only individuals likely to have no [biological interest in] continued life will be those incapable of having [conscious] preferences” (Animal 9). It is highly unlikely that any creature lacks a biological interest in persisting, regardless of vague and indeterminate (conscious) “preferences.” These word changes highlight the difference between the certainty of a fundamental biological interest in persistence and the less certain notion of conscious preferences, and the importance of distinguishing between the two. In contrast, biological functioning is more readily determined. Biological functioning lies at the heart of conatus and is something we can talk about in a less biased, more reasoned fashion. My inclination is to purge all biological discussion of mentalist interpretation. If I should propose that a mosquito turns upwind whenever it detects increased carbon dioxide so that it can find a breathing animal to feed on, I am talking about its adaptive programming, not about its understanding or thinking. Likewise, when I propose that Suleiman the Bloodthirsty, a Moroccan potentate some centuries back, amassed a large harem in order to maximize his genetic representation in future generations, I would not be implying that this is what he consciously wished. I would be talking about the adaptive programming that was precisely organized for this effect. (G. Williams 72)

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Biologically, every living entity strives to persist. Both science and common sense indicate that living entities function in order to avoid oblivion and to maintain genetic identity over time—they all have conatus, a biological interest in survival. In the words of the marine biologist George Liles, “the cells and organs that make life possible had better be well designed, because the job of living is formidable” (G. Williams 72–73). If we did not function explicitly to persist, we would surely cease to exist as living entities. It does us well to remember that many living entities—uncounted numbers of species down through history—have been unable to survive in spite of conatus. The Minimize Harm Maxim, consistent with established Western morality with regard to preserving human life, does not rest on the value of life, on consciousness, the ability to reason, the “will” to live, or any mental state. Conatus describes what contemporary Western ethics requires of an individual if that individual’s life is to be preserved and protected. Did Anthony Bland, Baby Theresa, or Matthew Donnelly exhibit a will or desire to live? Anthony Bland’s brain had turned to liquid. He could not have had any will. (Keep in mind that Anthony Bland’s life was preserved over a long period of time, and only with a major legal effort was he permitted to die.) Anencephalic infants do not have any mental functioning, no desires. Matthew Donnelly spoke up loud and clear, making it known that he had a will to die. Each of these human beings had moral standing; each was protected by Western morality, backed by law and established medical practice. “Will” plays no part in assessing whether human beings have moral standing; “desire” does not determine whose life will be preserved. In contrast, conatus does describe what allowed medical personnel to keep Baby Theresa alive—conatus was all that she had (aside from a body that was shaped like a human being, which is of course not morally relevant to the protection and preservation of life). Therefore, conatus is sufficient to grant moral standing in contemporary Western morality; conatus is sufficient to warrant the protection and preservation of an innocent human life. “Will” and “desire,” are not relevant to human moral standing and the preservation of human life. Consequently, teleology, which is often connected with “will” or “desire” is also irrelevant to moral standing in the Minimize Harm Maxim because this maxim is an extension of contemporary Western ethics regarding the protection and preservation of innocent human life.

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4. Moral Standing The four theories presented and discussed in this book each present a different set of criteria for moral standing: • • • •

Regan: subjects-of-a-life Singer: sentient beings Taylor: natural teleological entities Linzey: all of creation, out of duty to the divine

The Minimize Harm Maxim, based on contemporary Western moral standards for protecting innocent human life, asserts that all entities with conatus ought to have moral standing because all human beings that have conatus have moral standing. This is perhaps best demonstrated by medical practice and law regarding anencephalic infants. Baby Theresa—anencephaly in general—is an apt example for four reasons. First, anencephaly seems to reveal what might be taken as the outer limits of the protection and preservation of innocent human life. Second, three hundred to one thousand such babies are born in the United States alone, every year, revealing anencephalic infants not as extraordinary cases, but as ordinary in the sense that they are always present, always being provided comfort care. Third, Baby Theresa, though hopeless and without any sensation, was offered comfort care (rather than being pronounced “dead” so that her organs might be harvested) against the wishes of her parents, demonstrating that actions to preserve the life of Baby Theresa were not taken simply for the sake of the parents, but because of the baby herself. Fourth, all that anencephalic infants have by way of life is conatus. They are kept alive simply because they cannot be considered dead (brain dead) when their brainstem is functioning, however marginally. Therefore, their biological persistence—conatus—is honored and preserved. Baby K was kept alive because it was possible to keep her alive, and she only died when it was no longer possible to sustain her. Whereas the other four medical cases presented above might have been kept alive for other reasons, Baby Theresa had nothing else going for her—no other reason to be kept alive—only conatus as evidenced by her brainstem. The only reason an anencephalic infant might be considered morally relevant is because it has conatus, which keeps these little beings breathing for as long as they are able.

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Sentience is often considered relevant to moral standing. Why be concerned with an entity that is incapable of suffering, or as in the case of Anthony Bland, an entity that is incapable of benefiting from what is done? There are in fact sound reasons why sentience should not be relevant to moral considerability. Pleasure and pain are, in the final analysis, tools: tools by which a living thing capable of experiencing them can ensure its survival and the fulfillment of its needs. But it is the interests that it has in virtue of its being a living being, and our ability to nurture or impede fulfillment of these interests, not the pleasure and pain, that make it enter the moral arena. . . . [H]umans would still have interests and needs and would still be objects of moral concern, even if they no longer experienced pain and pleasure. And it is this that broadens the scope of moral concern beyond pleasure and pain to essential characteristics of life itself. (Rollin 38)

There is a general moral tendency in the West to preserve innocent human existence with or without sentience. Consistency, impartiality, and casuistry require like treatment of like cases. Because we protect innocent human beings even when they are not sentient, philosophic consistency requires that we respect all innocent living entities, even if they are not sentient. For the sake of philosophic consistency, the Minimize Harm Maxim offers moral standing and an imperative to protect and preserve life impartially and equally to all living entities. For living entities not shown to be different in morally relevant ways, the Minimize Harm Maxim does that which current moral standards and law do for innocent human beings. Philosophic consistency, impartiality, and casuistry require that we treat like cases in like manner. 5. Interests, Welfare, Sentience Conatus—the biological inclination to persist—is fundamentally different from other primary determinants of moral standing such as “having an interest” and “sentience.” Recall Regan’s clarification of two distinctive types of “interest,” active and passive, such that the good of an entity can be either consciously sought or a passive reality of biological existence: Regan distinguishes between being interested in (active), versus something being in one’s interest (passive) (Narveson, Nature 22). Children are often interested in things that are not in their interest; they may want to eat nothing

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but candy. Adults are not all that different. Those addicted to cigarettes want to smoke, but smoking is clearly not in our interest. The same is true for drug addicts. In fact, those who are interested in eating the flesh of pigs, or in eating at KFC, fall into the same category. It is not in anyone’s interest to eat such foods when healthier options are available. As with human beings, a dandelion or a bumblebee each have certain things that are in their interest whether or not they know what is in their interest and whether or not we know what is in their interest. (This is not to say that we cannot know what is in the interest of a dandelion or a bumblebee. We can learn what each entity requires biologically to thrive and what brings harm. We can gather “objective knowledge of the life cycle of a butterfly, an apple tree, or a protozoon, and in this sense we know something of what is good for them” (Vilkka 68).) One is generally understood to have an interest in something (say, getting a job) if one wants, desires, prefers or cares about—that is, takes an interest in—that thing. And something (such as food) is ordinarily understood to be in someone’s interest if that thing has, or might have, a positive effect on that individual’s good, welfare, or well-being. (DeGrazia 39)

Preference interests denote what one might prefer; welfare interests are biological needs. Biological needs work toward an individual’s good even if one is not aware of such interests, and even if that individual is not aware of the good associated with such interests. All living beings have biological interests. A plant has an interest in water because without water it will die. If a plant has its biological needs met, that plant will grow and live. If these basic needs are not met, it will die. Both plants and animals (yes, including human beings) have things that are in their interest—such as water in reasonable proportions at necessary times. Satisfaction of biological needs is fundamental to plant and animal survival, yet does not require conscious choice or mental activity. Welfare interests require no mental formation; they are integral to every living entity. Sage, snapdragons, reptilian tuataras, basilica spiders, smelt, and human beings all have welfare interests—a biological good that can be realized or thwarted. Evelyn Pluhar notes some of the entities limited to welfare interests besides blackberry vines and maple trees:

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chapter eight Beings with no capacity for consciousness are not sentient. They can neither be aware of nor care about anything that happens to them, although they can live, flourish, deteriorate, and die. We may feel ( justifiably or not) moral concern for humans who fall into this class, such as the irreversibly comatose, anencephalic babies born only with brain stems, and the brain-dead. However, many have no such moral feelings toward plants, sponges, or bacteria, who are quite far removed from the human form, although much more apt to flourish in favorable conditions than the sad cases mentioned above. (Pluhar 8)

Anencephalic infants are more like plants than animals in several critical ways: they cannot feel pain, they cannot move, and they have no mental functioning whatsoever. The lives of both plants and anencephalic infants can be harmed; there are things that are in their biological interest. Sentient animals have a critical additional interest over and above that of anencephalic infants, brain-dead patients, and plants. Most importantly from a moral point of view, sentient creatures have a critical interest in not suffering, as noted by an organization called Vegan Outreach: Based on common physiology and behavior, it is safe to say that cows, pigs, chickens, and other animals we raise to eat also experience fear when their lives are threatened, pain when their bodies are mutilated, and boredom and frustration when caged for long periods of time. Nonhuman animals show they value their lives and freedom by their struggles against being caged, mutilated, and killed. Depriving them of life and freedom harms them in many of the same ways that humans are harmed when deprived of life or freedom. (Norris 2)

Pain and suffering are morally relevant. Causing pain and suffering to others is morally reprehensible when such suffering is not in their interest, and when such suffering is avoidable. Those who murder are not looked on in the same light as those who torture and maim before they murder. The Western legal system deals more harshly with those who purposely cause suffering; maiming and torturing other human beings add to the severity of a crime, and to the severity of punishment. Western morality, backed by law, does not smile on one who causes gratuitous suffering. So many years after the death of Descartes, few will deny that anymals suffer. “Logic, science, and common sense all point to the existence of [anymal] suffering” (Pluhar 14). Morally speaking, with regard to pain and suffering, plants and animals are in completely

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different categories because only the latter can suffer. But anencephalic infants demonstrate that the presence or absence of pain and suffering are not morally relevant to the preservation and protection of innocent human life. In fact, medical personnel were required by law to inadvertently increase the emotional pain of the parents, and of the families of other babies that might have been saved with Baby Theresa’s body parts, for the sake of preserving her life for as long as possible. Both plants and animals can be harmed—both have many things that are in their interest—but pain and suffering are peculiar to animals with a functioning central nervous system. Each criterion for moral standing proposed by moral philosophers (along with consciousness and sentience) is a mere derivative of the “more basic right of a being to pursue its own good” (Regan, “Exploring” 82). Contemporary Western morality with regard to preserving and protecting innocent human life does not distinguish between the sentient and the nonsentient, as best evidenced by comfort care offered anencephalic infants. Sentience appears to be a sufficient, but not a necessary, condition for moral standing among human beings. A protectionist theory based on biological interests, on conatus, avoids the pervasive problem of assessing where consciousness or pain begin and end, what mental or physical realities are experienced or not experienced, and where certain lines ought to be drawn in light of these epistemological problems. Perhaps this is why contemporary Western morality does not consider such distinctions morally relevant. For the sake of consistency and impartiality, protection of life is not rooted in sentience in the Minimize Harm Maxim because the ability to suffer and feel pain is not necessary for preserving and protecting innocent human beings. Based on the six cases presented in chapter 7, the fundamental moral consideration for the Minimize Harm Maxim is the presence or absence of conatus. As among human beings, entities that strive biologically to persist are not compared or weighed off against one another, nor are they assessed for mental capacity or the capacity to suffer. All things being equal, any innocent human being that can be preserved generally must be preserved, by law, unless or until legal proceedings decide otherwise. Consequently, in the Minimize Harm Maxim any living being that can be preserved, ought to be preserved and protected.

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6. Impartiality and Moral Expansion Human beings have often proven incapable of assessing moral standing with any degree of impartiality. History indicates that we “are subject to thresholds of moral sensitivity just as we are subject to thresholds of cognitive or perceptual sensitivity”; beyond such thresholds we are “morally blind” and suffer “disintegrative consequences analogous to ‘information overload’ in a computer” (Goodpaster, “On Being” 313). We are animals with limitations of both heart and mind. It is therefore not surprising that the moral scope of concern for life has been almost exclusively human, or that it has often been narrow and sectarian even among Homo sapiens. Ethicists have consistently focused moral standing on certain individuals. In this ongoing ethical endeavor only the particulars of which individuals have varied, and those particulars have generally varied depending on who made and defended the ethical principles, and the breadth of their particular moral vision. Our protracted quest for acceptable criteria by which to include certain individuals and simultaneously exclude others has been counterproductive, thwarting our general trend toward moral expansion. Nonetheless, the trend of Western morality over recorded time is generally one of expansion. [T]his aspiration toward the universal is the chief feature of the moral history of mankind. It is not that modern man is kinder, fairer, or more dutiful than his primitive forebears; in fact, man for man, he may be less kind, less fair, and less dutiful. It is, instead, that whatever his moral proclivities, they now encompass a larger number of people. The Apache warrior may have been far more loyal to his family and caring of his offspring than a contemporary professor of philosophy, but where the Apache would kill without remorse a warrior from another tribe, the philosopher would feel obliged not only to spare the life of a sociologist but to go to great lengths to ensure that the latter was given equal opportunity and personal liberty. ( J. Wilson 194)

Ethicists take into consideration the interests of “others”—those not in power—such as women, the poor, children, anymals, peoples of other cultures, distant nations, and minorities. Protectionist philosophy is at the cutting edge of this outward moral expansion. Those who have expanded their moral vision to include anymals tend to have a more inclusive moral outlook. In a 1991 study, individuals who subscribed to a protectionist magazine

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were overwhelmingly supportive of the civil rights movement, feminism, the struggle against apartheid, pacifism, and gay rights. These results are compatible with a 1989 survey of Congress members: those with the most favorable “pro animal” voting records also had the strongest records of support for social justice causes. The converse held as well: those who had the least favorable records on such causes were also the least likely to support legislation with positive implications for nonhumans. (Pluhar 127)

Based on our sordid history, some philosophers advocate an inverted approach whereby all beings are initially granted unquestioned moral standing. “The lesson of history is that we must open up the question of moral considerability and keep it open, not close it off again by instituting practices based on the latest, and no doubt mistaken, ‘final’ criterion” (Birch 321). This “open-door” approach has decided advantages over the more conventional approach of extending moral standing to certain individuals. The more conventional approach “will always serve to exclude beings from consideration” (Hayward 56). Based on a general contemporary Western ethic regarding innocent human life, rooted in consistency, the Minimize Harm Maxim grants moral standing to any entity that endeavors to persist. The Minimize Harm Maxim thus extends our current rigorous protection of life to include all life, taking a giant step outward in the expanding circle of ethical theory and practice. The outer edges of conatus are as difficult to define as the outer edges of “subject-of-a-life,” “sentience,” or “human being.” Where exactly are the gray edges of conatus? We have not yet determined whether a jellyfish baby or a fertilized egg are human beings—we do not even know where the outer edges of “human being” lie. But this predicament has not prevented us from an ongoing and heated debate surrounding the moral standing of fertilized eggs; this has not prevented many people from fighting for a fertilized egg’s right to life. The gray edges of conatus are irrelevant to many of the moral choices most of us make every day. Many who ask about the borders of a protectionist moral theory only seek to hide from what is clearly contained in the moral theory. They wish to play semantic games while willfully chewing on sandwiches made from a royal palm turkey. Those entities protected by the Minimize Harm Maxim are those entities that are not shown to be different in morally

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relevant ways from innocent human beings protected in contemporary Western morality, such as anencephalic infants. The distant edges of conatus may be obscure, but those entities that clearly qualify are obvious, and those that lie in the gray zones are largely irrelevant to our personal, day-to-day choices. Those entities residing in the gray borderlines are not generally central to pressing moral dilemmas. Most of our mindful interactions with other living entities, those actions about which we can most easily ponder what we ought to do, those who we willfully exploit and kill, are all clearly included, such as elephants and emus, cattle and chickens, mice and guinea pigs, spiders and crabs, lodgepole pine and huckleberry bushes. The Minimize Harm Maxim extends moral consideration to all living entities with whom we purposefully interact, and with whom we thereby establish relationships that entail moral choices. What we need to ask is not “Where is a clear demarcation between those who have moral standing and those who do not?” but rather “What will I have for lunch?” Though largely irrelevant to contemporary applied ethics, the gray edges of conatus are, ultimately, important to moral theory. The edges of life are difficult to surmise. Microorganisms are alive; even protozoa have interests—and therefore have things that are conducive to their well-being (VanDeVeer, “Interspecific” 67). We cannot know what it is to be a protozoan, but we can ask if the life of a microbe is different in any morally relevant way from that of Baby Theresa. Yes, the protozoan is viable, and Baby Theresa is not. Protozoa are protected under the Minimize Harm Maxim because current Western morality with regard to innocent human life protects anencephalic infants. Many of us have never seen a protozoan, but these one-celled organisms biologically persist as surely as do human beings, and they are therefore morally considerable under the Minimize Harm Maxim. Based on the consistent application of current Western morality between human beings, these organisms are morally considerable in the Minimize Harm Maxim, as are viruses, bacteria, and yeast because each one is at least as alive as was Baby Theresa. Western ethics even protect the lives of human beings who do not have mental attributes such as desire, will, or reason, who are not sentient, who cannot walk, talk, feed themselves, or even breathe for themselves. Consequently, for the sake of consistency and impartial-

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ity, the first premise of the Minimize Harm Maxim states that all living entities have moral standing. Premise Two: Death and Harm Are Part of Life Ultimately, all that now lives will perish. The life of a mayfly—just a few hours long—does not suggest that we give up on life, but calls us to contemplate both the value of a few hours of life and the inevitability of death. The Minimize Harm Maxim, an extension of morality among human beings, does not enjoin the prevention of all harm—life entails destruction; it only asks that we minimize harm. Europeans took land and lives from those living in the Americas when they arrived; the American lifestyle disproportionately eats away at the ozone layer, immediately threatening Australians (who live under the ozone hole). More Americans become yet more obese while many others are malnourished. We are legally permitted to kill those who threaten our life. America maintains the death penalty. Western nations have recently sent troops to kill those living in the Middle East while Middle Eastern extremists have killed themselves in order to kill those they view as their enemies. Ungulates tread on fungi; carnivores chew on ungulates. Organisms live on and within our bodies and the bodies of those we harm. The process of life entails the destruction of life. “All conative beings will struggle for life, and they can receive no moral censure if some must be allowed to die as the price of that struggle” (Pluhar 281). All life-forms will eventually be eaten or in some way consumed by predators, microbes, or by autodigestion. Life is sustained by mutual predation; everything eats and is eaten. Differing interests are not always compatible. Individuals compete with individuals. . . . While there is symbiosis in nature, live and let live, interaction for mutual benefit, there are also conflicts of interest. Nature may not entirely be red in tooth and claw, but certainly we cannot wish away the fact that, in many forms, blood is shed. Fortunately, we are not called upon to police the biosphere. (L. Johnson 244)

Because we cannot live without harming other life-forms, including other human beings, morality merely restricts the harm we may reasonably cause. Toward this end, distinguishing between basic and

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nonbasic interests is critical. Basic interests are essential for the maintenance of life. Food is a basic interest; we cannot persist as individuals without food. There are very few basic interests such as food, water, air, our immediate safety, and (depending on the climate and species) shelter and clothing. The Minimize Harm Maxim is an extension of morality with regard to the protection of human life and therefore permits killing only when necessary for survival. We are not expected to perish rather than kill someone who threatens our existence. When one must harm to satisfy basic interests, harmful actions may be neither morally reprehensible nor illegal. Standard contemporary Western morality even permits individuals to kill one another if we must do so to preserve our lives. Living entities must harm to subsist, and so it becomes a moral matter which entities, and under what circumstances, we might kill. Just because bloodshed is unavoidable does not suggest that we are free to kill at will. Morality does not consist of what is common, but of what we ought to do. Ethics require us to speak the truth even though being completely honest in all situations seems an improbable feat. Similarly, though it would seem impossible to maintain the lives of all entities in all situations, the Minimize Harm Maxim requires us to strive to preserve and protect all life inasmuch as we strive to preserve and protect human life. Like the moral maxim not to lie, the moral maxim to minimize harm is an ideal. Killing and harming are both acceptable when one must kill or harm to satisfy a basic interest—when one must do so to survive. Legally we are permitted to kill an animal that is a direct threat to our existence, human or otherwise. What of harm caused in the process of acquiring food? We return to this topic shortly. Premise Three: Hierarchies of Moral Standing Are Indefensible 1. Empirical Evidence Modern scholarship indicates that we are no more or less unique or marvelous than any other species. In The Origin of Species Darwin writes: [L]ike the other animals, man is subject to slight variations from individual to individual (no two people are exactly alike), and these vari-

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ations are heritable. Man also reproduces in greater numbers than can survive. . . . Any species with an extended range will tend to diversify; individualized, geographically separated varieties will appear. This happens with man: Africans, Eskimos, and Japanese are, to the biologist’s trained eye, distinct varietal forms. Moreover, as biologists had always known, it is easy to fit man into the great classificatory scheme: he is a primate, a mammal, and so on. Once these classifications are seen as related to lines of evolutionary descent, it is clear that man also belongs to a particular line of descent. (Rachels, “Darwin” 100)

Though Darwin did not know that human beings most likely originated in Africa (making Africans more than just another “variation”), he helped people to recognize how closely we are related to anymals. If species classifications were based on genetic similarity (making our classification system less arbitrary), humans, chimpanzees, and gorillas would all be under the same genus: Homo (Pluhar 134). Chimpanzees and gorillas are genetically closer to humans than they are to gibbons. Human beings share an estimated 98% (or more) of a chimpanzee’s genetic composition (Orlans 98); our “blood and DNA put us closer to the chimpanzee than horses are to donkeys” (Ryder, Animal 331). [T]he genetic code is in fact literally identical in all animals, plants and bacteria that have ever been looked at. All earthly living things are certainly descended from a single ancestor. . . . From a molecular point of view, all animals are pretty close relatives of one another and even of plants. You have to go to bacteria to find our distant cousins, and even then the genetic code itself is identical to ours. (R. Dawkins 12)

All of the many and varied species “arose from a common ancestral bacterium some four billion years in the past” (Pluhar 135). In the last analysis we are merely another herd of animals with our own set of tendencies, advantages, and shortcomings. Our genetic code carries not only “impressive cleverness,” but also remarkable “stupidities”; human beings are the product of natural selection, not rational planning (G. Williams 136). Darwin opened the door to a fuller understanding of who we are, and who we are not; we are not separate from the rest of the natural world. At last, the life sciences have yielded a fuller wisdom. We are natural creatures. The oxygen we breathe is a gift of the plant kingdom, just as the carbon dioxide we exhale is their nourishment. Our food is digested by symbiotic microorganisms without which we would starve. The DNA code that defines us is composed of the same four molecular letters that define all life. The salinity of our blood is the same

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as that of the sea from which we came. . . . Nature gave birth to us. Nature sustains us. Nature is us. (Partridge 11)

Scientific evidence points to our comparative insignificance; we are just one species among many. Even our bodies are not separate and independent but hosts for other life-forms. “Thousands of parasites make their home on my body; yet even to say that they are ‘on’ my body is problematic. They partially constitute this body; we share it and we are it. The animal is not other” (Steeves 7). Whatever we wish to call ourselves, however we wish to classify ourselves, we are part of a great glob of striving conatus, one species among a mass of entities that swarm the earth seeking to persist. Such a realization indicates that it is time to “discard speciesism along with all our other delusions of grandeur, and accept our natural place in the universe” (Ryder, Animal 334). We are, after all, nothing special. Or inasmuch as we are unique, so is every other living entity. 2. Innate Human Bias “Darwinism, despite establishing the now almost universally held belief in the physical kinship of men and animals, did not cause most people to take the logical next step of admitting moral kinship” (Ryder, Animal 331). Our tendency to see living things within a hierarchy— and to place ourselves at the top—has prevented us from accepting our rightful place in the animal world. With the advent of Darwinism our negative perception of “animals” caused problems with our self-perception—the derogatory way that we perceived beasts became the way we perceived ourselves (Rodman 18). It has been difficult to accept our newly discovered “lowly” place in the humble stable of life, standing next to the cow and the sheep, competing for food around the global manger, and abandoning our false, puffed-up sense of self. But our new, more realistic vision is important to our moral growth. “[I]t does not follow, merely because we are descended from apes, that we ought to think less of ourselves, that our lives are less important” (Rachels, “Darwin” 99). The critical point is not that human beings are worthless, but that all life is precious to the entity in the midst of its own life. Accepting our rightful place in nature need not involve a lowering of self. It is time for Homo sapiens to stop seeing “animal” as other, lesser, alien and recognize that each time we

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see them we are looking in a mirror. What we see is “us.” We are animals, just one life-form among billions. For as long as history has been recorded, people have grappled with their rightful place in the world of living entities. Many writers, most notably the ancient Greek philosophers, proposed hierarchies. Hierarchies between various forms of life have generally shown as little depth of vision as those created between different types of people. The ancient Greeks proposed a pecking order with property-owning males on top. Men were over women and both stood over slaves. Plato concluded that philosophers are the best rulers, and that rulers ought to be philosophers. Later, white men asserted that they are the apex of God’s creation, towering over blacks and women. Recently, in the United States, Native Americans were considered “less than fully human” (Orlans 3). It does not come as a great surprise that whoever proposes the hierarchy, whoever wields power, places themselves at the pinnacle. In recent centuries morality and behavior have too often reflected an attitude of European superiority. Similarly, our assessments of other organisms reveal personal preference, vested interest, and a remarkably narrow vision. [S]uch ranking inevitably leads us to value most that which is either most useful to us (economically or aesthetically) or most like us. To give more or greater rights to porpoises over sharks and kittens over cockroaches because the former exhibit a greater “richness of experience” is to beg the question. Whose standards are the correct ones? The shark and the cockroach appear perfectly content with their respective (depth of ) life experiences. Certainly their experience has served them well enough in terms of evolutionary survival. What we understand by “rich experience” it turns out, is experience that most closely resembles the kind enjoyed by [normal adult] human beings. (Thiele 176)

Current Western ethics admit of no hierarchy of moral standing among human beings, yet we accept a hierarchy that places Homo sapiens above all other species. We have long held that we “are fundamentally different and deserve unique or sole moral consideration” amidst the wonders of life (Orlans 16). Scholars continue to engage in much philosophical speculation in the hope of determining exactly what makes us different from (and superior to) anymals, but “[a]ny judgment we make about the subjective value of human life relative to the subjective value of nonhuman life is likely to be profoundly biased” (A. Taylor 257).

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chapter eight Humans have routinely eradicated, hunted, trapped, skinned, eaten, done toxicity testing upon, and experimented with nonhuman animals because it was assumed that they had little or no moral significance. Humans have reserved paramount moral status for themselves, so much so that even the desire for barbecued ribs is thought to outweigh the suffering and death of a factory-farmed pig. If the source of our alleged moral preeminence is our fully autonomous, richly complex kind of life, then it seems that it would be permissible to barbecue a few other folks. (Pluhar 62)

Our attempts to elevate human beings morally seem as vacuous as the assertion that a four-leaf clover is luckier than a three-leaf clover, or luckier than a sand lily. Yet unsubstantiated assumptions offering human beings the place of supremacy have become (and remain) widely accepted “truths” for most Westerners. These “truths” have helped to shape legal codes. The falsely elevated status of human beings seems little more than oft-repeated deceptions that we have failed to challenge, due at least in part to the benefits we all would share if we accepted such conclusions. Human beings are often considered closer to God, the exclusive holders of souls and rationality, and the only species exhibiting consciousness, tool use, and language—or even the only sentient species. “Europeans scholars have tried to teach us that nonhumans do not have cultures. Webster’s Dictionary does not include chimpanzees or honey bees among those who have ‘a culture,’ only humans” (Forbes 115). These unsupported assertions expose our inability to be unbiased in self-assessment. They reveal that we are the ones making and defending the rules of moral standing, and that we tend to be more selfish than reflective, more self-interested than self-examining, more self-centered than rational. We have been only too happy to agree with ourselves. Human beings in the West have tended to assume that biological complexity is important for moral standing, and have thereby placed human beings at the apex of the pyramid of importance. But if “value” is determined by the importance of an individual or species in sustaining life, which is perhaps the most sensible way to assess “value” if one is interested in creating a hierarchy, then biological interdependence reverses the traditional Western assumption. Plants are directly critical for the survival of mammals, but not vice versa. The protection of plant life—of habitat—is critical to the survival of multitudes of larger organisms. For instance, pikas depend on local foliage for sustenance, but pikas are not, as far as we know, critical

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to the plants on which they depend. The standard human “hierarchy of importance” is reversed when we consider “the instrumental value of a population in terms of the health of an ecosystem: typically, plant populations have more instrumental value than animal populations and animals have more instrumental value than humans” (Hettinger 5). Leena Vilkka advocates this reversal of importance and suggests that we reorganize our way of thinking to ask ourselves how we humans are instrumentally valuable for the rest of nature (10). She suggests that these “lower” levels of life make human life possible and should therefore be acknowledged as fundamental, primary, and in this way more important than so-called “higher” lifeforms (108). Scholars, both in the humanities and the sciences, now challenge long-held assumptions regarding human supremacy. “There is no longer any excuse for believing that the abilities of any human far eclipse those of any nonhuman” (Pluhar 85). Mary Midgley writes: The general point is that other animals clearly lead a much more structured, less chaotic life than people have been accustomed to think, and are therefore, in certain definite ways, much less different from men than we have supposed . . . [Our assumed differences were] built up on a supposed contrast between man and animals which was formed by seeing animals not as they were, but as projections of our own fears and desires. We have thought of the wolf always as he appears to the shepherd at the moment of seizing a lamb from the fold. But this is like judging the shepherd by the impression he makes on the lamb at the moment when he finally decides to turn it into lamb chops. (Beast 25)

Maybe a four-leaf clover brings good luck, maybe wolves are as conniving as the story of Little Red Riding Hood would have us believe, and maybe Homo sapiens is more Godlike than any other animal, but empirical evidence does not support any of these assumptions. Instead, empirical evidence (and common sense) indicates that anymals share many “human” character traits, such as consciousness and the ability to reason. Other animals are aware both of themselves and of the world around them (M. S. Dawkins 177). Inasmuch as you believe that you are conscious, you have no reason to believe that other species are not also conscious. Human life is valued even without these particular attributes— anencephalic infants have moral standing though they have no mental functioning, no ability to move about or develop into viable beings.

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Our unsubstantiated, falsely elevated status prevents us from accepting moral kinship with anymals. While we go to extreme lengths to preserve the life of Baby Theresa, millions of anymals are killed simply because no one wants them, or because someone does want them—on their plate. Assessments of ourselves in relation to our assessment of other living entities reveal creaturely limitations; we seem patently unable to assess characteristics that are radically different from our own with any breadth of perspective, with any measure of justice. Consider the puffin’s ability to navigate—unaided by technology—on the water, in the air, on land, and underwater. The puffin has a remarkable orange beak (even by human calculations), can land on tiny ledges of vertical cliffs, tirelessly feeds young chicks, remains loyal to one mate unto death, catches fish without technology, and survives in the most inclement weather without artificial clothing. Puffins even manage to settle interpuffin disputes without harm or death. How about that? Who are we to say that the characteristics for which we have long praised and privileged ourselves are any more remarkable or morally relevant than those of the puffin? We have proven unable to study killer whales without comparing their brains to our own, unable to assess the life of a red howler without comparing their thumbs to ours, and unable to assess the household cat without noting that it cannot communicate using syntax. It is much less common for us to note our own inability to leap through the air covering many times our body size, as the hairy frog does. We do not often note how our own lives are limited simply because we do not have a long and able tail. It is uncommon for human beings to downsize ourselves because we lack the built-in weaponry of claws and fangs natural to every household cat. We are unwilling to label the sounds made by dolphins “language,” unwilling to admit that elephants who return to, and touch, the bones of their dead have some sense of death, and unwilling to say that the devoted dog who risks her life for her mistress is able to “love.” What is love, anyway? Our view of anymals as separate and lesser has required us to invent a different set of words for the same phenomenon that we exhibit, and different explanations for the same behavior, lest we acknowledge too much. We need to continue seeing them as “other” if we are to maintain common exploitative practices. We are everywhere and always busy maintaining our view of anymals as separate and below, where we have placed them

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in our hierarchy. We have “put a fictitious gulf between ourselves and other animals, to the great detriment of the latter” (Singer, Animal 3). Even if we can show that some animals have a more complex physiological organization than others, we haven’t, I think, hit on any really justified sense for “lower” and “higher,” especially since we increasingly find out that some of the apparently similar animals may be extremely complex in the organizations of their ecological relationships or, as in the case of some of the insects, their social relationships. (Brophy 67)

Impartiality is central to moral philosophy. An unbiased eye is able to see that, from the point of view of the frog, or the cat, or the red howler, their minds and bodies are just as they should be. Are not our own? If we are to be fair, we “cannot judge our human lives as more valuable from our point of view than the lives of mice from the points of view of the mice” or that of a puffin’s life from the point of view of a puffin (Vilkka 43). But we do. Other creatures can rightly and reasonably be judged only “in terms of their ability to carry out the way of life appropriate for that animal” (Gunn, “Traditional” 151). Commenting on Paul Taylor’s point of view, James Sterba writes, [N]onhuman species also have distinctive traits that humans lack, such as the homing ability of pigeons, the speed of the cheetah, and the ruminative ability of sheep and cattle. . . . there is no point in claiming that the distinctive traits that humans have are more valuable than the distinctive traits that members of other species possess because there is no non-question-begging standpoint from which to justify that claim. (193)

We often cannot comprehend the lives of other living entities, such as that of a gastropod, kinkajou, or endangered Pink Fairy Armadillo of Argentina. For most of us, it seems we are unable to appreciate the good of an organism that is not like ourselves. Consequently, human beings have tended to value and reward attributes that we perceive as specifically human. Other life-forms are most often admired from a humanocentric point of view. For instance, they might be admired because they “have social instincts, enjoy companions, are sympathetic with the plight of those to whom they are close, help their fellows, knowingly risk their lives, grieve in the loss of life, are gratified by others’ approval of their behavior” (Orlans 14). We see these other species from our own small world, and the saddest part

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is that this “limited ability to relate to other entities has informed our stilted value system, the value system on which we have built laws and standard practices” (Gunn, “Traditional” 151). We have diminished other species based on our perception of how alien and different they are from us. But impartiality does not permit moral standing to rest on how similar other entities are to ourselves. Whether an entity’s life is protected should clearly not depend on what humans think about that particular anymal. This is precisely why impartiality is central to sound moral theory. Due to the ethical importance of impartiality, out of respect for epistemological difficulties, and in light of a long history of human bias, the Minimize Harm Maxim permits no hierarchy of moral standing among living entities. 3. Consistency and Impartiality With mounting empirical evidence that we are just one among many remarkable species, on what logical grounds can we conclude that only human life is morally considerable, that only human life ought to be protected? Given what we now know about life, it is astonishing that we continue to rationalize the flagrant moral inconsistency between our treatment of human life and our treatment of all other life-forms. It is remarkable that we maintain our extensive and extreme regard for human life over and against such a stunning disregard for the lives of all other species when we know that other animals are similar in morally relevant ways. Our persistence demonstrates that we lack depth of vision, humility, and compassion. From embryology to exploring ecosystems, current knowledge indicates that we are not separate and higher than the rest of the animals. Nor do we have any grounds for asserting that human attributes are superior to the ways and means of other species, any more than male tendencies are superior to those of females, any more than Western cultures are superior to Eastern cultures. Consistency requires that we grant moral standing to all living beings and reject our archaic, exclusive ethic of human supremacy. Given what we now know about life, and about ourselves, consistency and impartiality—central to moral philosophy—do not permit a hierarchy of species where we place ourselves on top. If we are to be consistent, we must grant moral standing to all life, inas-

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much as we grant moral standing to Baby Theresa or Samuel Linares. If we are to be impartial, we must acknowledge that the life of Baby Theresa or Samuel Linares, your life or my life, is no more or less valuable than any other life. Each being strives to persist. The Minimize Harm Maxim permits of no hierarchy of life because, inasmuch as we protect and preserve every innocent human life, we must protect and preserve any life that is not shown to be distinct in morally relevant ways. There is, as yet, no morally relevant distinction that has been drawn between anencephalic infants and a guanaco, or between a brain dead human being and a glass lizard. 4. Moral Ideals Regan, Singer, and Taylor soundly demonstrate that species is not a morally relevant criterion; any moral theory that draws distinctions based purely on species is untenable. We have progressed beyond the days of Descartes; those who are “rational and honest” are obliged to consider the effects of our actions on other species, just as we are obliged to consider the effects we have on one another (Sprigge, “Metaphysics” 124). “Moral rules are species-neutral: the same rules that govern our treatment of humans should also govern our treatment of non-humans” (Rachels, Created 208). Anything else constitutes speciesism. The Minimize Harm Maxim rejects all hierarchies of life. This is not to suggest that humans cannot make any hierarchical distinctions, or that all such hierarchies are inherently immoral. There is a legitimate hierarchy regarding age—between adults and children. There are hierarchies between big children and little children, between popular and unpopular students. Human societies are rife with hierarchies based on considerations such as finance, employment, and appearance. Hierarchies abound, but generally speaking, Western moral ideals, the ideals on which we build constitutions, legal systems, and moral norms permit no hierarchy of human beings with regard to moral standing where life is concerned. The life and welfare of any one human being is as morally considerable as that of any other. We have not yet achieved this moral ideal in practice. Evidence indicates that rich people who commit crimes are less apt to be arrested and less apt to go to prison (or wind up on death row) than poor people or minorities. It is the duty of moral philosophers to

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develop ethical theories based on ideals even if we are not yet able to implement such theories. “One of our most fundamental obligations (a sine qua non of ethicality) is discovering our obligations” (Birch 322). Consistency and impartiality require that there be no hierarchy for the protection and preservation of various forms of innocent life. As a society we hold the moral ideal that all human beings are equally morally considerable, regardless of finances, age, employment, or appearance. There is no generally accepted hierarchy for protecting and preserving human life in contemporary Western ethics. Due to the absence of any morally relevant distinction between humans and anymals, the rejection of a hierarchy of moral standing among humans ought to be extended to other species. This is not to say that all creatures ought to be treated identically. (An Australian budgerigar that has a broken wing should not be treated the same as a budgie that has been poisoned, and a skipper butterfly that is starving should not be given budgie food.) If anencephalic infants and the brain dead are morally considerable, if their lives are to be protected and preserved, then consistency and impartiality require that the lives of each living entity that is not different in morally relevant ways also be protected—all lifeforms. Consequently, the Minimize Harm Maxim eliminates hierarchy and asserts that all living entities are equally morally considerable. Based on the moral precedent set in the cases such as those of anencephalic infants and the brain dead, any entity with conatus ought to be granted moral standing. The Minimize Harm Maxim is based on the above three premises, is grounded in consistency and impartiality, and reflects Western moral standards for the protection of innocent human life. Maxim: Minimize Harm The Minimize Harm Maxim, simply stated, requires that we minimize harm—that we always harm less rather than more if we must harm. The Minimize Harm Maxim is an extension of Western morality concerning the protection and preservation of innocent human life, providing the same commitment to and level of protection for all life-forms that have not been proven to be different in morally relevant ways. Based on the six cases above, except in extenuating circumstances,

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any act that interferes with another entity’s conatus, or biological urge to persist, constitutes harm and is not permissible. Harm frustrates conatus, the biological striving for self-preservation inherent in every living entity, and assiduously protected in innocent human beings such as anencephalic infants. Killing and causing to suffer are both harms. This maxim is informed by four subpoints, presented in descending order of importance. Subpoint One: Minimize Interference 1. Toward Other Entities Our moral obligation, long lost but hopefully not beyond our grasp, is to “let beings be” (Zimmerman 127–28). Minimizing harm requires that human beings interfere as little as possible with other entities. We are obliged to allow other living things to live and die without interference, to “function spontaneously” in accord with their own nature (L. Johnson 163). This is standard practice among human beings. Robert Latimer’s sentence of 25 years was brought on by his unwillingness to let Tracy Latimer be. There are instances in which we feel morally obligated to interfere with the lives of others. Robert Latimer interfered on behalf of his daughter to prevent her ongoing suffering and to end a life that could never be that of a twelve-year-old, or even that of a threeyear-old. We sometimes feel obligated to interfere with the lives of others for their benefit, but Robert’s benevolent intentions ended Tracy’s life, and his actions were clearly outside what is legally permissible between human beings. The same is true for our interactions with anymals and plants. Noninterference requires that we allow other living entities to establish their own population balance, and that we allow them to live and die without systematic human interference (“management”). Consistent with morality and law concerning human life, noninterference forbids us to kill anymals out of concern for their well-being. To better understand the importance of noninterference, consider the case of hunting. Hunting is often defended as a method of helping other species to balance numbers and avoid starvation. Let us consider what actually occurs in the name of “helping” deer, for instance.

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Few deer actually starve. Some deer may go hungry, but undernourishment is a more honest assessment of what actually happens during times of food shortage (Pluhar 281). In any event, hunted animals thought to be at risk of malnutrition make up an extremely small percentage of “game” animals; deer constitute about two percent of those killed by hunters in North America each year; the remaining ninety-eight percent are not overpopulated. There is certainly not an overpopulation of mallards, for example, yet millions of mallards are shot annually (Orlans 201). In most areas, populations of hunted anymals have been drastically reduced by hunting (Luke 38). That is why one of the primary strategies of “game management” is to artificially inflate “prey” species, such as deer. Nor do hunters help strengthen those species from which they remove individuals. Hunters do not select sickly, thin, or aging individuals—those most likely to die over the course of a hard winter. Hunters kill the healthiest animals they can find. As a result, hunters reduce the genetic strength of herds and condemn weaker animals to die long, slow deaths. Their deaths are further prolonged and suffering increased because wildlife is managed for hunters, which means that other prey populations are reduced or eliminated. Consequently, anymals that are weak or sickly sometimes die a slow death without the benefit of natural predators. Nonetheless, one “game management” strategy is to eliminate or reduce nonhuman predators. The wolf-control program in Alaska continues to reduce wolf populations in order to inflate caribou herds for hunters. Hunters are interested not just in the continuation of those species that they enjoy hunting, but also in the proliferation of those game species in sufficient numbers to maximize pleasurable hunting opportunities. The proliferation of game animals sometimes requires the complete or near extermination of natural predators—a case in point being the recent killing of wolves in Alaska to generate greater numbers of elk and caribou for human hunters to pursue. (Luke 38)

Through bounties on wolf and coyote pelts, by eliminating “problematic” cougar and bear populations, hunters systematically remove species in order to sway the balance of nature toward “prey” species for the pleasures of the human hunt. “Rather than reintroduce predators, human beings alter the natural state” to artificially inflate the anymals we want to hunt, “further despoiling the environment” (Pluhar 280).

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Although gray wolves are still abundant across northern Europe and Asia, only remnant populations exist elsewhere in Europe. Their numbers in North America also have been greatly diminished. They are fairly abundant only in Alaska and Canada . . . Under the Endangered Species Act, the gray wolf is listed by the United States Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS) as threatened in Minnesota and as an endangered species elsewhere in the United States except Alaska. The decreasing numbers of wolves are the result of encroachments on their territory by humans, who have long regarded wolves as competitors for prey and as dangerous to livestock, pets, and people. However, few if any healthy wolves have attacked humans, whom they instead try to avoid. Wolves are valuable predators in the food web, and their decimation has led to the overpopulation of certain other animal species in various areas. (“Wolf ”)

Once other predators are reduced or eliminated, humans then argue, circuitously, that there is an overabundance of prey that must be shot (as a benefit to the animal hunted, of course) in order to prevent starvation. Hunters are expected to destroy a certain quota of anymals each year, and that number of “excess” deer (caribou, moose, etc.) is purposefully fostered each year, for the hunt. “Management” assures an equally excessive crop each year, which hunters claim they must shoot in order to prevent species overpopulation. Wildlife “management” manipulates anymal populations and habitat to suit human desires and ends, ultimately at the expense of other species and of nature in general. Devastation to the natural environment by hunting practices is one of the strongest links between the protectionist movement and the environmental movement. As a simple point of honesty, “wildlife management” should be renamed “wildlife manipulation.” And what of our methods of “culling” deer “for their benefit” once we have artificially inflated their numbers? First let’s consider bow hunting. According to camohunter.com (accessed in July of 2004) bow hunters killed 97,000 whitetail deer in Michigan, 69,269 in Wisconsin, and 54,622 in Pennsylvania (“Deer”). This only represents a few states, one species—and of course only those killed legally by bow hunters. The total number of whitetail deer killed just in three states is well over 220,000. Only half of all deer shot with arrows are retrieved, which means there must be another hundred thousand whitetail deer that are wounded, but not counted among those killed . . . though they often die long and painful deaths. The high

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rate of injury from bow hunting means that there is a high rate of septic infection and crippling among those deer that are not retrieved. Those retrieved do not necessarily die a quick and painless death. They usually die from loss of blood, a comparatively slow death in which they suffer considerably (Pluhar 277). Those shot with guns fare only marginally better. “As Robert Loftin (a philosopher who by no means rejects sport hunting) has documented, various scientific studies have shown that death at the hand of the hunter is seldom ‘clean’ and frequently prolonged” (Pluhar 279). No matter what method is used, hunted anymals suffer in several ways. They suffer from terror in the face of being hunted, risk of injury in pursuit, risk of wounding when they are shot, and finally a premature death. In spite of these facts, many people claim that hunters are anymals’ best friends. It is widely believed that hunters assure the continuation of hunted species—never mind the passing of the overhunted dodo bird from Mauritius (an Island east of Madagascar), the disappearance of the vast herds of buffalo from the Great Plains of the United States, and the decimation of numerous species of great whales from the seas. True, hunters have a vested interest in enhanced populations of “huntable” species, and wildlife populations are currently “managed” with this in mind. Yet “hunting is considered to be the main factor in the extinction threat of 28% of bird species and 29% of mammal species. The objectives of hunting are varied, and include food, furs, hides, horns and shells” (“Reduction”). Those who assert that “killing is an act of friendship” toward victims are best viewed with suspicion, perhaps as one paddle short of forward motion (Pluhar 279). Would you like to exist simply so that someone could hunt you? From the deer’s point of view, can we straight-facedly argue that hunters are their friends? Can hunters reasonably argue that they perform a service for the deer they pursue with intent to kill ? Yet many people argue that this is the case. In actuality, the most common and widely accepted argument in favor of hunting is a ruse. Those who suggest that hunters help deer fail to see deer as individuals. How does the hunter help a deer by wounding or killing her? They do not. Deer are not merely a species to be maintained for our benefit; they are individuals living out their own lives. Hunting is a self-perpetuating ecological disaster; instead of being viewed as the friends of those they kill, hunters are better recognized as wildlife terrorists, or environmental terrorists.

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A different line of argument holds that hunting builds character, enhances bonds with the natural world, and instills a positive attitude toward nature. This anthropocentric attitude views killing deer as a mechanism for human advancement. Only human interests count, while the anymal that has been shot is completely expendable for our ends. Can hunting foster such traits, or is this yet another ruse of the National Rifle Association? At its most basic level hunting fosters violence. As discussed previously (chapter on Singer), violent killing harms both the one who is killed as well as those who engage in violence and their communities. Even if a weekend outing centering around killing could foster a positive attitude toward nature, this attitude would not help human communities to accommodate those who have been encouraged to kill, and who have found that they quite enjoy the experience. Because almost no one in the Western world currently hunts or fishes out of necessity (i.e., they would not have adequate nutritious food to eat if they did not hunt), those who continue to hunt and fish enjoy killing anymals. Those who kill for pleasure clearly do not respect the lives of those they pursue. “[T]he point of angling” for instance, “is to intentionally inflict pain, fear, and suffering on fish in a manner that prolongs and aggravates these conditions by first hooking them, then playing with them until they are exhausted, and finally establishing complete control over them by landing them” (389). In the West, hunting and fishing are generally nothing more than deadly forms of entertainment, blood-letting recreation, more akin to the Roman gladiators than to the subsistence practices of hunter-gatherer cultures. How can this be considered consistent with respect for the natural world? Hunting is unnecessary because eating flesh is unnecessary, and hunting fails to minimize interference. Hunters, pro-hunting organizations, and wildlife “management” agencies often claim that hunting benefits, or at least does no harm to wildlife populations or ecosystems. In fact, the net effect of “managing” wildlife populations for hunting has been devastating to ecosystems in at least four ways. First, hunters generally target the largest and healthiest individuals. This removes the most fit members of species from the gene pool. Second, hunters and wildlife “managers” have reduced or eliminated natural wild predators, such as wolves, bears, and mountain lions, as a means to reduce “competition” with hunters for prey. Natural predation, in contrast to human hunting, weeds out

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Even if people believe (or at least speak as if they believe) that they are doing something beneficial for other species by terrorizing them in their natural environment, wounding and killing them, that does not change the facts—hunters do tremendous harm both to anymals and to the environment/ecosystems. Noninterference does not permit humans to muddle in the affairs of anymals for any reason. The Minimize Harm Maxim extends ethics protecting innocent human beings to other living entities due to a lack of any morally relevant distinction between all people and all other living entities. It is immoral in Western countries, and illegal, to hunt expanding and strained populations of human beings. We do not “cull” “surplus” populations in Bangladesh or Los Angeles. Avid hunters are not likely to suggest that it is more humane to shoot starving peoples in Ethiopia than to pursue other options, such as leaving them alone to fend for themselves. And of course there is always the morally preferred option . . . feed them. Generally, Western morality has assumed that human beings are entitled to more than mere existence; we are morally obligated to aid those who are poor, injured, or enfeebled (Gunn, “Traditional” 143). Generally speaking, Western moral ideals indicate that we ought to feed the starving, not shoot them. The philosophic tool of casuistry instructs that we handle like cases in a similar manner. Starvation versus “a quick bullet”—what are we to do? The Minimize Harm Maxim indicates that what is good for the goose is good for the guy. If we are consistent, if we apply our ethical commitments impartially, if we treat like cases in a like manner, then we cannot condone hunting anymals, even under the guise of “population control.” If hunters and wildlife “management” were sincerely interested in nature, in preventing species overpopulations (instead of causing them),

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they could implement birth control. Evelyn Pluhar notes that “ungulate contraception has been actively researched for over twenty years and has been developed in a field-tested noninvasive, effective, reversible form, with no observable, adverse side effects” (277). Such serums, administered with guns, have been successfully used on wild animals as diverse as deer, horses, and elephants (Dateline). In the interest of establishing moral ideals—utopian ideals—it might seem best to maximize benevolent interference. But such an approach is problematic on several counts, including our deplorable inability, revealed down through history, to fairly assess other species (noted previously). How can we trust ourselves to know what is in the best interest of a desert pupfish or a bubble shell when we clearly have not been able to act for the best interest of other mammals such as deer and wolves? We must not only be wary of human motives, but also of our assumptions, especially given our tenuous understanding of the needs of the diversity of the earth’s living entities. Interfering in the lives of anymals with intent to assist poses daunting epistemological problems. How can we know what is offensive, annoying, or preferred from another person’s point of view, let alone from that of another species? We may not be able to recognize when anymals are afraid, distressed, or in pain, many of which have different sensitivities to sound, temperature, and odor (Orlans 264). Noninterference requires that we accept our limitations and our fallibility and practice noninterference because history teaches that managing the lives and habitats of other living entities is “normally futile, and frequently counterproductive” (L. Johnson 244). Hunting provides an apt example of our inability to act in ways that genuinely benefit other species. “The moral imperative of noninterference admits of human ignorance, and acknowledges the human tendency to be selfish in ‘managing’ other entities. As simple ‘citizens’ of the biosphere, we have no claim to the prerogatives of global zookeepers” (Thiele 177). It is important that we minimize interference, rather than offer benevolent interference, because we lack the wisdom and power to manage the planet. We are not divine; we are animals. History has shown that tampering with the ecosystem is more likely to cause harm than to bring about any overall, lasting benefit for all involved. Noninterference acknowledges our ignorance, weakness, fallibility, and most importantly, our membership in a global community (as opposed to anointing ourselves earth’s rulers). We are not in charge, and the

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Minimize Harm Maxim insists that we refrain from manipulating and meddling in the lives of other entities. This laissez-faire policy is consistent with morality among humans. Only with consent is it morally acceptable to interfere in the lives of those of other nations. With consent, through communication, people can discuss the nature and extent of assistance before action is taken, thereby avoiding many of the epistemological problems entailed in “helping” anymals. This is not the case between species. We cannot gain the consent of other species when we interfere in their habitat or with their lives, and our chance of causing harm under the guise of “assistance” increases exponentially as we move away from our family, our culture, and our species. Consent is also required to provide emergency medical care. “Adults, when conscious and mentally competent, have the right to refuse care. Adults . . . cannot be forced by a paramedic to accept emergency care” (Grant 13). There are instances when communication is not necessary. When someone’s life is in grave danger, and she is unable to request assistance, aid offered is always assumed to be consistent with the wishes of the endangered individual. “In cases where the adult is unconscious or for some other reason unable to give you his actual consent, the law assumes that the patient, if able to do so, would want to receive treatment. . . . Typically, the law requires that . . . if care is not initiated,” it is withheld due to a “significant risk of death, deterioration,” or disability (Grant 13). Lifethreatening injuries can be treated without the wounded person’s consent. However, if the person resists treatment, it is not acceptable to persist with efforts to help. Only if they are unconscious, or otherwise unable to express their wishes, is it permissible to treat people without consent. The imperative to assist the wounded is enhanced for the one who has caused the injury. If I run over the local baker with my bicycle, I am expected to provide aid. If I leave her in distress, I am legally culpable for causing damage and knowingly leaving the baker lying in the roadway. Under the Minimize Harm Maxim, consistent with morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life, we are morally obligated to lend aid when we are directly responsible for causing harm, or when we are personally confronted with an emergency medical situation. In either case the assistance must be offered for the sake of the one injured, and with an eye to

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restoring that entity to her or his previous status—as would be the case between human beings. For example, if while digging in the garden a farmer wounds an Aesculapian snake, she is morally responsible to aid the wounded. Though we may not be able to help a wounded snake—or a dying human being—turning away from the suffering that we have caused others is morally repugnant, even in the face of helplessness. Consistency and impartiality require that we hold ourselves to the same moral standards for an Aesculapian snake as for other human beings; we must try to help those we have harmed, or those we come upon who need our immediate assistance. Perhaps, in the case of the wounded snake, a local veterinarian could render services needed. At a minimum, the wound should be disinfected before the creature is returned to her or his natural setting. And of course the gardener is required to be more careful with her shovel. Clarifying the plethora of possibilities that might arise, various scenarios and possible levels of injury, would require a book in itself. Is it okay to cage a wounded anymal for a period of time? At what point is the terror and misery of confinement “unbearable” for certain wild entities? Is there a point at which it would be best to kill a maimed being? What about killing worms inside a dog—are we permitted to harm other living entities for the sake of just one? According to the Minimize Harm Maxim, these questions can only be answered by looking to what we would do in the case of a wounded human being. Would we put a human in a cage for a period of time for their safety? Yes, and we do. Is it morally permissible to kill maimed and suffering human beings? Yes, sometimes, though only in rare and desperate situations. But what of killing roundworms dwelling in Spot’s internal organs? (We return to this in chapter 9.) The point is that morality with regard to the protection and preservation of human life is the standard by which a plethora of possibilities are to be explored and answered. The primary question within the Minimize Harm Maxim is, “What would we do for a human being in the same situation?” We then might ask, “If we imagine that the other entity is a human being, what would be legally and morally expected or required?” It is possible that, as our morality evolves to a more consistent and comprehensive ethic of life, our treatment of human beings will change. Perhaps it will become unthinkable to cage those at risk of

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suicide, unimaginable to keep alive a suffering patient such as Matthew Donnelly. Maybe euthanasia will find an accepted place in morality among innocent human beings. The Minimize Harm Maxim is an extension of moral standards for the treatment of innocent human life. In the event that this morality changes, consistency will require that the Minimize Harm Maxim also change. The Minimize Harm Maxim, an extension of morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life to include all life-forms not shown to be different in morally relevant ways, indicates that we are generally not to interfere systematically with (“manage”) the lives of other entities because they cannot ask us to do so. We may only interfere to protect when their lives are in danger, and we are obligated to assist when we ourselves have directly caused the harm that requires our attention. 2. Habitat—A Reversal of Value “[T]he good of individual wild animals cannot be divorced from the existence of flourishing environments that allow them to exercise their natural powers and live their own lives, as free as possible from human interference” (A. Taylor, “Animal” 172). Minimizing interference requires that we avoid interfering with the environment because anymals and plants are both dependent on their environment for survival (as is the human animal). Plants need the earth and the earth needs the biosphere, animals, and plants for renewal. To destroy habitat, or remove living things from their habitat, is harmful to living entities. The ill effects of human interference in the natural world are nothing new. When human beings, often called Clovis people, first set foot on the Americas some twelve thousand years ago, many of the animals they began to hunt were driven to extinction (“Human”). Remains in the camps of these first Americans reveal “mammoth, beaver, sloth, bison, wooly mammoth, mastodon, and saber-toothed tiger”; the end of hunting only came with the disappearance of the species these early humans hunted (“Big”). [M]any scientists think that these people [Clovis] caused the extinction in North America at the end of the Pleistocene. Researchers who support this view generally favor one of two explanations. The first is that human over-hunting directly caused the extinction. The second is

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that over-hunting eliminated a “keystone species” (usually the mammoths or mastodon) and this led to environmental collapse and a more general extinction. (“Human”)

The extinction of one species can cause the extinction of others. The disappearance of a lake or a creek, of a particular plant or a certain type of grass, can cause the disappearance of species or individuals dependent on that lake or grass. In order to avoid harming living entities, the Minimize Harm Maxim includes noninterference with habitat. “Habitat” is any area where living entities dwell. Humanmade environments are also habitats, even refuse dumps, which contain many life-forms. If we create a park or a garbage dump, then our environment—our habitat—is a park or a dump. And these habitats become the homes of other entities. If we create areas where rats thrive, then it is not acceptable to kill the rats any more than it is acceptable to extinguish annoying or dangerous feral children living in overcrowded cities. We have created these environments; killing the products of our work—those creatures that arise in environments we create—is not the solution. How we treat our environment, how we treat the world around us, affects every other earthling. Even mindlessly turning over a stone will have an impact on organisms—a plant, an insect, or many beings too small for our human senses to perceive. In order to protect and preserve the lives of those entities not found to be different in morally relevant ways from human beings, such as anencephalic infants or Anthony Bland, we ought to avoid harming or even disturbing the world around us. We cannot promote the good of Amazonian manatees and red milkweed beetles, of red groupers and frilled lizards, while destroying their habitat. We cannot promote the good of rats if we create what we consider to be an overabundance of rats in a particular area and then kill those same rats. The Minimize Harm Maxim requires that we think carefully about how we live in our interconnected world. We are morally obligated to prevent “infestations” rather than destroy life after the fact. Inasmuch as it is unacceptable to destroy infestations of humans that swarm across the globe devouring the habitats of every other species, threatening the balance of nature and the biosphere itself, we cannot destroy other life-forms just because we consider them an infestation. Blackfoot and Makah, Cheyenne and Navajo, were once viewed as

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expendable infestations of unwanted humans on land we desired to occupy. It is no longer acceptable to view human beings as an infestation, or as expendable, no matter how overpopulated we are, no matter how destructive we are, no matter how expendable each of us may actually be. Though we often ignore this fact, human beings are no less dependent on the natural environment than are other species, and we would benefit no less than other creatures from noninterference with the world around us. Albert Schweitzer writes that the ethical person “tears no leaf from its tree, breaks off no flower, and is careful not to crush any insect as he walks” (Thiele 177). Schweitzer has been roundly criticized for including insentient and inanimate matter, such as snowflakes, under his protective ethical umbrella. But Schweitzer was correct—if we are to protect the musk ox, then we must protect the muskeg, and if we are to protect the muskeg, then we must protect the air and the water, even the snowflake. The earth’s systems of water are interconnected. Never has this interconnection been more clear than it is at present, under the threat of global warming and flooding from the earth’s melting glaciers and ice fields. Schweitzer’s ethic is based on a radical view of interconnections: If we are to protect the scarab beetle or ourselves, we need to be mindful of how we treat snowflakes and puddles in our backyard. Water reserves, waterways, snow, and ice are part of a connected system of moisture on which all earthlings depend. The interconnected web of life revealed by science—so common in the mythology of indigenous cultures and Eastern religions—informs the Minimize Harm Maxim: we are to minimize interference with habitat. The Minimize Harm Maxim requires that we maximize noninterference with habitats in order to avoid harming anymals and plants. 3. Nonencroachment: No Growth, Reduce, and Reuse Noninterference carries the moral imperative not to further encroach on the habitat of other beings: not to claim new territory for dams, roads, homes, museums, or garbage dumps. If we extend the protection and preservation of human life to all other life-forms, we must not interfere with the environments of other entities. Just as

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the United States, Poland, and Taiwan are not permitted to take land from Mexico, Finland, or Madagascar, we are not permitted to take land from other living entities. We can only take land when those residing in that nation request that we adopt them into our country, as was the case, for better or for worse, with Hawaii. Obviously, other living beings cannot ask that we take over their land and dominate their lives, nor would they be likely to do so if they could. There are no exceptions to nonencroachment. This is made possible by a no-growth, reduce, and reuse policy. Projections indicate that human populations will have expanded by nearly four billion individuals in the next thirty years. Demand for food will increase correspondingly, and industrial output triple (Crisp, “Values” 75). Even if these predictions are incorrect, human populations have grown astronomically in the last century and continue to grow exponentially to the present day. Four people join the planet every second (M. Nelson). Our growing numbers adversely affect many other living entities. At one time Europe was home to large numbers of a wide variety of animals, such as deer, elk, bison, boar, wolf, and bear. Because humans have occupied or developed so much of Europe, however, many species of animals have either become extinct or have been greatly reduced in number. Today, deer, elk, wolf, and bear can be found in the wild state in significant numbers only in northern Scandinavia and Russia and in the Balkan Peninsula. Elsewhere they exist mainly in protected preserves. (Stein)

Flying across North America, we find it obvious that “Americans” have adversely affected almost every other life-form that lives on this continent. Areas of land once covered with vast forests, where bear and deer, wolf and moose, phantom orchid and cliffrose, yellow fawn lily and Schott’s yucca once proliferated, are now mowed down, replanted for pasture and crop yield. Sprawling cities omit almost every other species for miles and miles around on land that once supported chorus frogs and tiger salamanders, black-footed ferrets and peregrine falcons, little pipsissewa and honey mesquite. Now the land supports human beings, and those few other species that are able to dwell in our midst, many of whom we have the audacity to consider “pests.” We have taken over the continent and most of the

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globe. The “flourishing of sentient non-human life on this planet requires an end to human population growth” (A. Taylor, “Animal” 264). To minimize interference, humans need to quit breeding with such indifference to the larger world. We need to commit to a nogrowth policy. The greatest harm a human being can do is to have a child, especially in capitalistic, resource-consuming Western countries. North American children use a tremendous amount of resources in comparison with youngsters in most other countries. From abundant school supplies to extensive medical care, from double-packaged foods to fast-moving vehicles, Americans are megaconsumers. Humans everywhere take a heavy toll on the environment, but humans in the West are the most environmentally destructive animals on earth. Has any other animal in the last few million years had such a negative impact on water, air, forests, soil, or ozone layer—the environment in general—as we have in the past century? If any other species caused as much trouble as we do, human beings would engage in mass killing to reduce the numbers of such a dangerous and bothersome lot. Humans are the bane of the earth and capitalism a primary vice because of its dependence on unlimited, unsustainable growth. Resources are finite and the biosphere has a limited ability to support human expansion and our concurrent destructive activities. Unlimited growth is the ideology of the cancer cell, which ultimately destroys its habitat, the host body. In this way humans have become a cancer, degrading and obliterating the habitats of nearly every other life-form and enslaving or killing previous occupants. The millions of other species gain nothing from our economic pursuits, but they suffer the consequences. The Minimize Harm Maxim includes a moral imperative to minimize consumption, regardless of the effects on economic growth. Ongoing and extensive ecological degradation are the result of “a conflict between our moralities (and religions) and our visible and immediate economic interests” ( Jamieson, “Moral” 9). We must become motivated by the common good—common to all life-forms— rather than personal greed. We must use restraint and reduce demand. If we are to respect the lives of these many other entities we must reduce consumption. At this point, not only the lives of other species are at risk, but our own lives as well.

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Some might argue that human conatus includes bearing children, that we are permitted to be the animals that we are just as surely as other animals are permitted to fulfill their own biological urges. But statistics do not support this assumption. Statistics show that educated women, women who have other options, choose to have fewer or no children. No one can reasonably argue that women who choose not to have children are bereft of conatus. Statistics suggest that childbearing is not fundamental to human beings; indeed, it is proving to be an optional activity. Humans, like all creatures, have urges which lead to reproduction. Our biological urge is to have sex, not to make babies. Our “instinct to breed” is the same as a squirrel’s instinct to plant trees: the urge is to store food, trees are a natural result. If sex is an urge to procreate, then hunger’s an urge to defecate. Culturally induced desires can be so strong that they seem to be biological, but no evolutionary mechanism for an instinct to breed exists. Why do we stop breeding after we’ve had as many as we want? (“Biology”)

If we choose to breed, the Minimize Harm Maxim requires that human beings limit reproduction. “‘Stop at two’ may have been a radical proclamation when Zero Population Growth was founded in 1968, but it was barely adequate even then. So-called replacement level fertility . . . wouldn’t bring about true zero population growth until the middle of this century, due to momentum. Today the message is only slightly revised: ‘Consider having none or one, and be sure to stop after two’” (“Biology”). (If an individual remarries, she or he ought not to have another child with a new spouse, even if each has only one child.) The Minimize Harm Maxim asserts that it is morally preferable not to have children due to current human population problems. [I]n terms of energy consumption, when we stop at two it’s about the same as an average East Indian couple stopping at 60, or an Ethiopian couple stopping at one thousand. . . . Two is better than four, and one is twice as good as two, but to purposely set out to create even one more of us today is the moral equivalent of selling berths on a sinking ship. Regardless of how many progeny we have or haven’t produced, rather than stop at two, we must stop at once. (“Biology”)

The human species is not expected to dwindle and disappear off the face of the earth any time soon (though this might well bring about the greatest good to the greatest number of living entities!). “Youth

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is a wonderful phase of life, whether it’s people, panda, or panther. It’s sad to imagine there being no more of any of them. A baby condor may not be as cute as a baby human, but we must choose to forego one if the others are to survive” (“Biology”). The Minimize Harm Maxim requires minimal human harm—an end to population growth and rabid consumption—and requires that we reverse our population explosion, reuse, and recycle. 4. Harm Low on the Food Chain This section proposes a diet that minimizes harm, consistent with the Minimize Harm Maxim, and consistent with morality regarding the preservation and protection of human life. We are permitted to harm other human beings in order to survive. Ethics regarding the protection and preservation of human life admit of a gray area, an unspoken acceptance that if one must eat other people to survive, one will not be prosecuted. Cannibalism is rare. Nonetheless, there are two famous instances of cannibalism in the last 150 years. In the winter of 1846–1847, the ill-fated Donner party was trapped in the Sierra Nevada not far from Lake Tahoe. Starvation reduced friends and families to eating one another. Only forty-seven survived of the eighty-seven original members (“Donner Party”). In 1972 in Chile, a plane went down, stranding a handful of individuals for seventy days in the Andes Mountains. Most of the passengers were young men, members of an Uruguayan soccer team. Though extremely fit, and young, only sixteen individuals survived; they survived by consuming the flesh of their less fortunate traveling companions (“Cannibalism”). In neither instance did the individuals involved willingly select other humans as their dietary preference. In both instances those who survived did so because they ate human flesh. These cases were of course controversial because no one can be sure whether those who were eaten were murdered. Still, no one was prosecuted. Few would prosecute, blame, or even complain, about starving people eating one another rather than perishing. If placed in a situation where death is otherwise imminent, history reveals that cannibalism is an acceptable option. Under these conditions it is not legal to kill other people to eat them, but morality permits the consumption of those who are already dead in desperate situations.

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Ethics regarding the preservation and protection of human life permit people to eat other human beings who are already dead when there are no other options available. Consistent with this high standard regarding human life, the Minimize Harm Maxim does not permit human beings to kill and eat anymals. It is only permissible to eat anymals if one is starving, and if the anymal is already dead. Consistent with human ethics, in a pinch, one might kill and eat an anymal and not be convicted. The Minimize Harm Maxim requires that we minimize harm— harm less rather than more. To harm less rather than more requires us to avoid harm where possible and reduce harm when harm cannot be avoided. Fruitarian diets most effectively minimize harm. Fruitarians take fruit from other living entities, but do not kill plants or harm any living entity’s conatus. The only harm that results from a fruitarian diet is the destruction of potential plants—by eating fruits and nuts. There is no moral imperative among human beings to protect potential human life. Subpoint Two: We May Use Other Life-Forms Only with Consent “From the ninth to the nineteenth century we have innumerable written accounts of criminal prosecution and capital punishment of animals . . . pigs, dogs, wolves, locusts, rats, termites, cows, horses and doves” (Linzey, Animal Gospel 22). Indeed, into the nineteenth century anymals were tried in human courts for behaviors that human beings thought “wrong.” Anymals were excommunicated or executed according to human ethics, human faith, human law, and human judgment. Today we recognize that anymals that do not use human language or participate in human ethics and law are not legitimate subjects for trials, or for corporal or capital punishment. Our behavior was unjust. We no longer put anymals on trial, but we continue to subject anymals to unjust “punishment” based on human assessments of what ought to be done. Whether we execute, confine, medicate, or experiment on anymals, we necessarily do so unjustly, for selfish reasons, and without regard for the anymals we exploit for our purposes. When we “use” anymals for science, or in the food, clothing, or entertainment industries, we do so necessarily without their consent. Who would consent to the sorts of terrible experiments, unnatural

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behaviors, and forced confinement that we bring upon anymals? Current Western ethics do not permit exploitation of other human beings against their will. Under contemporary law we risk harassment or stalking charges if we even persist in the presence of those who do not choose our company. But with consent we may share company, or even use others for certain types of research, child-rearing purposes, labor, financial gain, or artistic productions. Morally and legally, as with emergency medical personnel and the treatment of the wounded, consent is critical. In some instances, such as when one individual holds considerable power over another, even consent is not legally sufficient to permit exploitation of another human being. Just because a fifteenyear-old gives consent for sexual relations does not mean such interactions are legal or morally acceptable. They are not. Young people are vulnerable to the power of those who are older. Therefore, consent does not necessarily demonstrate a young person’s genuine wish to go along with a given plan or procedure. Humans hold tremendous power over anymals—more often than not, we determine their lives and their deaths. In this sense other species are similar to minors: they are dependent and vulnerable; they are at our mercy. Even if they could definitively consent to exploitation, their consent would not be sufficient to warrant exploitation any more so than for children and other unequal dependents. What of cases where little children are trained to be gymnasts or pianists before they are old enough to decide if they prefer such a life? If these children can be so trained, why not anymals? To some extent, the nature of parenting requires that adults make important decisions for their offspring. While adults are responsible for producing the next generation of human beings—whatever they may be—we are not responsible for producing greyhounds or thoroughbreds that are of the right temperament and body build to run around tracks at record speeds for the entertainment of human beings. Furthermore, while it is possible for children to suffer because their parents make such choices for them, little ones who lack talent or athletic ability are never considered expendable; those who do not make the cut are never cast aside or destroyed. For this reason the exploitation of young athletes and artists is not equivalent to current exploitation of, for example, horses or dogs for racing, pulling, or appeasing the human eye. Also unlike human children, animals remain dependents throughout their lives and can never determine

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for themselves, over and against human interests, what will happen with their lives. Because anymals in our care remain dependents throughout their lives, and because we cannot definitively gain their consent, Minimize Harm Maxim does not permit exploitation of other species for our ends. The Minimize Harm Maxim is an extension of morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life. We cannot definitively ascertain whether or not other living entities consent to what we do to them; even if they could give consent, such consent would be no more acceptable than that of children due to their comparative powerlessness. We therefore cannot use other living entities for our purposes any more than we can exploit little children. While there are cases where one might reasonably argue that children are exploited to fulfill the dreams of adults, such exploitation, however well intentioned, is not permitted across species. Such instances are the unfortunate result of parental responsibility for shaping the lives of children, a responsibility that we do not and cannot have for other species. Subpoint Three: Intentions Matter Many of us are familiar with the adage “good intentions are not good enough,” but intentions are critical where moral matters are concerned. Intentions are an important factor in assessing personal morality, and the importance of intent is reflected in our legal system. Even when good intentions have bad outcomes, the Western legal system indicates that motivation is important in assessing guilt and assigning punishment. For instance, if Jex’s very old great aunt drowns while Jex is bathing her in a large bathtub, Jex is not guilty of murder. She may be guilty of negligence, but not murder. If Jex throws her aunt in a tub and intentionally drowns her, Jex is guilty of murder. Intentions do not necessarily affect outcomes—Jex’s aunt is dead either way—but intentions affect moral assessments. Sometimes we make mistakes—even in the tending of beloved anymals or children—and we are not held accountable for a bad outcome if we have good intentions, so long as we have not been negligent. Intentions are oftentimes the only difference, in a court of law, between murder and accidental death, between stealing and borrowing, between blatant cruelty and harm through ignorance.

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In the Minimize Harm Maxim, consistent with human morality, intentions matter. If one turns over a stone and crushes a pollywog out of ignorance, she or he is not morally culpable. But if one turns over a stone in order to crush a pollywog, that individual is morally culpable. Similarly, if one plants a pea vine to harvest peas and in the process steps on a garden spider, one is not morally culpable for the life lost. However, if one sees a harmless goldenrod spider climbing toward a pea vine and purposefully extinguishes her life, one is morally culpable because a living entity has been purposefully and unnecessarily harmed. Similarly, if one kills a small child, by accident (not through negligence), one is not immoral, while if one purposefully kills a small child the deed is morally reprehensible. It is not the act itself—but one’s intentions—that ultimately determine the moral legitimacy of a deed in the Minimize Harm Maxim. Good intentions are linked with virtues. One who fosters such virtues as benevolence and empathy is much more likely to live a life rooted in good intentions than one who fosters the vices of greed and arrogance. Responding to an overintellectual, reason-based approach to ethics, Richard Solomon notes that what allows the circle of ethics to expand to include other people, or other species, is not reason (in the technical sense of calculation on the basis of abstract principles) but rather knowledge and understanding in the sense of coming to appreciate the situations and the circumstances in which other people and creatures find themselves. This requires what many theorists now call “empathy” or “feeling with” . . . and it requires care and concern, the emotional sense that what happens to others matters. According to this “moral sentiment” view, there is no “line” to be drawn between ethics and benevolence, no place in our experience where affect and affection leave off and some new faculty called “reason” kicks in and takes over. Rather, our emotions get more and more expansive and better educated and new perspectives join with the old to enlarge our world and embrace new populations in it. This . . . should be recognized as the vital force in ethics. (Solomon 75)

According to L. Johnson, if we each act with goodwill toward other living entities, we would probably behave in a morally exemplary manner (200). Generally, one who fosters virtues will have benevolent intentions and will choose a different course of action from one who is moved by self-interest; intentions have a tremendous effect on the overall impact of a life lived. An individual who sincerely intends to be gentle and benevolent toward all living entities will not

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live as most of us live. Because we cannot avoid harming other living entities, harm itself is not morally reprehensible, but intentions are critical for assessing which harms are immoral. For instance, harms that result from one’s attempt to survive are morally acceptable. However, the same harms brought about for one’s pleasure are immoral. As in the case of Jex bathing her aunt, the outcome is the same but the intent differs. Intentions do not always make a difference in how one behaves; one might steal, kill, or lie with either good or bad intentions. In fact, morally speaking, “crimes” are sometimes the best possible actions, particularly when they are rooted in good intentions. For instance, if Maggie lives in a society that punishes theft with death and yet that same society offers no aid to the poor and needy, and if Maggie has no wealth of her own, she might be considered a moral exemplar if she steals to feed the needy. Though, from the point of view of the rich she brings them harm, her intent is to feed the poor, not to harm the rich. Maggie would, presumably, do the same for the wealthy, should they come into hard times, and they would no doubt see things differently. Her interest is in helping the most desperate to survive. Maggie’s act would most likely be considered morally exemplary because her choice involves self-sacrifice for others—good intentions. In this case the thief is concerned with aiding the needy rather than obeying property rights or protecting herself from possible arrest. Because her intent is to preserve life, to feed the hungry, and because most of us consider her cause just, the action (though illegal) is likely to be viewed as ultimately good. Many—if not most—would argue that she does what she ought if she steals from the wealthy for the specific intent of feeding the needy. Though intentions are critical, they are epistemologically problematic; one cannot definitively know the intentions of another individual; our own intentions are sometimes obscure even to us. Perhaps Maggie only steals from the rich because she likes to steal, or because she hates the rich. Still, consistent with current Western ethics and law, intentions are critical. Though they cannot be definitively known or quantified by a jury, we acknowledge the importance of intentions under such terms as “manslaughter” (unintentional, reckless killing) as compared with “murder” (intentional slaying) both distinct from “self-defense” (intentional, purposeful, but justified killing).

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Assessing the morality of a given action also rests on intent in the Minimize Harm Maxim. In many ways morality is a personal endeavor. When an act is done specifically to cause harm, it is immoral; an act that has a benevolent intent but brings about the same harm is not immoral. If one has the capacity to learn and fails to guard against repeating a moral error, then one becomes morally culpable for an act that was once innocent of blame. Ultimately, the acting agent is most likely to understand motivation and will be the best judge of the morality of any given act. Consistent with Western morality with regard to human beings, intentions are critical in assessing moral culpability in the Minimize Harm Maxim. As with morality among human beings, reasons, motivation, and intent help determine whether or not an act is moral. Subpoint Four: Self-Defense Is Morally Permissible Consistent with morality among human beings, one can harm in self-defense. As in the case of innocent human life, we cannot morally justify the forced, intentional infliction of pain, death, or other forms of suffering on other people except to protect our immediate and direct survival. Consistent with morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life, we may harm any other living entity that poses a direct physical threat. Bacteria, humans, and polar bears can all pose direct physical threats to our lives, and we are not morally culpable if we choose to defend ourselves, even if we harm or destroy dangerous others. But it is morally obligatory to try to avoid dangerous encounters and to avoid such harm when possible. We should not kill the insane attacker, be he human or canine, if instead he can be trapped without great risk, nor should we cause hostages to die if we can secure their release without endangering other innocents. Moral agents who reflect on these matters generally agree about the necessity of seeking alternatives when humans are involved, but are frequently far less concerned when nonhuman animals are the potential victims. (Pluhar 281–82)

The Minimize Harm Maxim, consistent with morality and law regarding the protection of human life, requires that we take precautions to minimize conflicts and, in the event of conflict, use the least harm-

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ful means of dealing with threats. Finally, if we must harm, we ought only to cause harm in relative proportions. 1. Minimize Conflict The Minimize Harm Maxim requires moral agents to minimize the likelihood of conflict and the need for self-defense. For instance, if Molly lives in a society without laws or law enforcement and depends on pumpkins for survival, she is not wrong to frighten, threaten, or even harm another person to defend her food source—even if she inadvertently plants her produce in a predator’s thoroughfare. Selfdefense is acceptable if one’s subsistence, and therefore one’s existence, is threatened. Intent also matters. If Molly chooses to plant her pumpkins in an unprotected place knowing that planting her crop in a different location would work just as well and would avoid confrontation, she is morally culpable for any harm done to entities that come to feed on her pumpkins. In fact, under the Minimize Harm Maxim, she may not harm such entities because Molly is morally culpable; she has not intended to reduce conflicts, the need for self-defense, or harm caused. Similarly, if we know that intensive planting of crops is apt to cause “infestations,” then we ought to avoid planting intensive crops rather than kill insects and rodents that come to share the bounty. In like manner, in order to minimize conflicts with insects that we find to be annoying or dangerous, we ought to wear long sleeves and use window screens. Minimizing harm in this manner is neither novel nor prohibitively difficult (and is included in Taylor’s theory of Respect for Nature (Respect 268)). Down through history people have often adapted practices to avoid conflicts with other species: “While the Europeans killed wildlife in number and without mercy, the Bantu built a structure that attempted to minimize association between humans and wildlife” (Burnett 157). It is now simply too easy for us to kill, and given contemporary Western humanity’s lack of regard for life-forms that are not human, we kill at will. But most “pests” might easily be avoided rather than eliminated. The Minimize Harm Maxim requires that we change our behavior whenever possible to avoid harmful conflicts. The Minimize Harm Maxim is consistent with general Western moral ideals regarding the protection and preservation of human life.

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Just as we take precautions to avoid conflicts with detrimental humans by locking doors and restricting travel in dangerous areas or at dangerous times, the Minimize Harm Maxim demands that we avoid conflicts with those that we consider problematic or dangerous. One of my friends left her door open on a hot day and fell asleep on her bed. When she awakened she had been robbed, and the policeperson with whom she spoke stated quite plainly that she was lucky far worse things had not happened. According to the law, while what the thief did was illegal, my friend’s lack of care had contributed to criminal activity and was also unacceptable. Human morality requires that we do all that we reasonably can to prevent such problems from arising in the first place. Many “severe conflicts of interest can be avoided simply by doing what is morally required early on” (Sterba 201). The Minimize Harm Maxim, for the sake of consistency in applied moral philosophy, requires the same moral standard between species as we now expect among human beings. We are morally required to minimize conflict. 2. Exceptions Certain scenarios alter the moral landscape, such as availability of law enforcement. In Western law we are not allowed to harm someone who steals our pumpkins for at least two reasons: In such a case our lives are not directly in danger, and dealing with criminals is the rightful duty of trained professionals. In the Western world, if you steal your neighbor’s source of sustenance, you pose only an indirect threat; he or she will not die of starvation. Because one’s life is not threatened by such an act, one is expected to notify law enforcement and allow professionals to deal with the thief. For law-abiding citizens of Western countries there is “no consideration short of the defense of one’s own life [which] would justify taking the lives of others” (Narveson, “Animal” 165). Casuistry requires that like cases be treated in a like manner. The Minimize Harm Maxim extends this high value of life to other life-forms, and we may only harm if another entity poses a direct threat to our immediate physical safety (i.e. if we feel our lives are in imminent danger).

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3. Relative Proportion In the Minimize Harm Maxim reactions are expected to be proportional. For instance, the occasional annoying fly that finds its way indoors despite screens ought to be brushed away or put outside rather than swatted. Killing such comparatively mild irritants is neither a consistent nor proportional response in light of Western morality protecting innocent human life; an annoying fly does not deserve capital punishment any more than does an annoying human. However, a mosquito buzzing around one’s ears in an area known to have malaria or West Nile virus might be considered a direct physical threat, leaving open the possibility for delivering a swift swat. A house mouse in one’s kitchen might not be considered ideal, but does not pose an immediate, life-threatening danger. Anymals that we do not prefer to live with ought to be relocated before numbers pose a health issue, prior to serious conflict. We are called on to avoid attracting such residents in the first place, but if conflicts of interest do arise, responses ought to be proportional. The Minimize Harm Maxim requires that humans deal with all “pests” the same way we deal with human “pests.” Consistency and impartiality require that we respect the lives of these other creatures inasmuch as we respect innocent human life. In light of casuistry, for the sake of philosophic consistency and impartiality, “pests” of all species ought to be dealt with similarly, through discouragement and relocation rather than execution. Extending Ethics Regarding Protection of Human Life: A Parallel Theory While current Western morality generally protects and preserves innocent human life, laws in Western countries allow individuals to harm or destroy other life-forms for a host of reasons—or for no reason at all. In fact, there are very few instances in which anymals may not be killed, most notably when such killing harms the interests of another human being. Killing your neighbor’s mixed-breed mutt is categorized as destruction of property, not the destruction of a life. Similarly, endangered species legislation protects the lives of anymals but is ultimately intended to benefit humanity—we have a selfish interest in biological diversity. The lives of other living entities are manipulated for human interests.

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In the absence of a morally relevant distinction between other lifeforms and all human life, philosophic consistency requires the Minimize Harm Maxim to apply contemporary Western morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life to all life that is not shown to be different in morally relevant ways. We do not protect human beings because they wish to be protected, because they are sentient, because they are conscious, or even because they are viable— as the six cases presented in chapter 7 reveal. We preserve human life simply because our morals and law dictate that if a human life can survive, we ought to do our best to assure survival. If an innocent human being endeavors to persist biologically (has conatus), there is a moral assumption that such a life ought not to be harmed, but rather that life ought to be preserved. We have established no morally legitimate reason to deny similar protection to other conative life-forms. The Minimize Harm Maxim offers a consistent and impartial interspecies morality that parallels generally accepted Western morality protecting innocent human life. Minimizing harm requires that we exist in ways that minimize conflicts. Only when we have considered the behaviors of others, proactively protected our lives and livelihoods, and only when we are directly, physically threatened by another, is self-defense a legitimate reason to harm another living entity. This requirement is consistent with generally accepted Western human moral standards between human moral agents and moral patients. Minimize Harm Maxim Restated It is possible to reduce the Minimize Harm Maxim to two complementary rules: minimize harm; minimize interference. As long as the above listed subpoints are not overlooked, this optional presentation is acceptable. However, utilitarian scales of measurement do not apply in the Minimize Harm Maxim any more than they apply in morality with regard to preserving and protecting human life. (This can clearly be seen in the six cases presented earlier.) Attempts to measure harm, or compare harm between individuals or across species, are contrary to the Minimize Harm Maxim, which is an extension of morality with regard to human life.

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Conclusion Due to the absence of any morally relevant distinctions between all human beings (including the six human beings in the cases presented previously) and other forms of life, for the sake of philosophic consistency and impartiality, using the philosophical tool of casuistry, the Minimize Harm Maxim applies contemporary morality protecting human life to all other living beings that possess conatus (biological persistence). First and foremost, the Minimize Harm Maxim states that one ought to minimize harm. In the process of carrying this out, one ought to minimize interference. Consistent with morality and law protecting human life, harms are not weighed between individuals; instead, a personal assessment of intention is critical. In the Minimize Harm Maxim, harm is always regrettable, whether to a buffalo gnat or a grison, whether by loss of habitat or loss of a limb. It is always immoral to harm a living entity purposefully and unnecessarily. It is only morally acceptable to harm when the potential for harm has been minimized, when harm is necessary for survival, when no other options are available, and when such harm is proportional to the danger posed. In short, the types of harm permitted, and the situations in which such harm is permissible, ought to parallel those that are permissible with regard to innocent human beings.

CHAPTER NINE

APPLICATION: CONTEMPORARY MORAL DILEMMAS This section applies the Minimize Harm Maxim to five ongoing protectionist issues and two hypothetical scenarios. In each case, given a lack of morally relevant distinction between all innocent human beings and all other life-forms, the central question posed is, How would we behave toward human beings in similar instances? The Minimize Harm Maxim, rooted in the consistent application of contemporary Western morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life, provides a framework for applied philosophy concerning other life-forms that are not different in morally relevant ways, a framework for answering critical questions in contemporary situations in an impartial and consistent fashion. A. Ongoing Protectionist Issues 1. Zoos and Circuses The Animal Welfare Institute recently reported that U.S. zoos gained permission from authorities in Swaziland to capture and import eleven wild elephants. These imports would further decimate already dangerously low elephant herds in Swaziland, reducing elephant populations by a whopping twenty-five percent. The Animal Welfare Institute, fighting to keep these elephants out of Western zoos, notes that elephants, one of the longest-lived animals in the wilds, do not live long in captivity due to lack of exercise, inadequate diet, poor living conditions, neglect, loneliness, and depression (Buckley 1–2). The Animal Welfare Institute argues that elephants do not belong in our cages but “should be left to wander freely with their families and friends through their native savannahs, playing in watering holes and mud pits, and interacting with one another as they choose” (“Save” 20). The Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee now houses six elephants, all rejects from zoos, circuses, amusement parks, and businesses that

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used animals to attract customers. Each elephant arrives at the sanctuary with his or her own horrific story of capture and separation from family and herd, transportation in tight confinement and chains, then further confinement mixed with training, exploitation, and finally rejection. Orcas suffer a similar fate in captivity, and like elephants, “Orcas are big business: wild-caught Orcas can net their captors a cool $1 million apiece” (Hoyt 7). Given the funds involved, it is not surprising that Russian authorities have set a quota for the capture of ten orcas from Russian waters for each of the past three years. When captured, these giant mammals go from feeding on mackerel and salmon, mating and playing under the snowy volcanic peaks of icy Russian waters, to human-built holding pens in cities of North America. They are taken from bonded family groups, where they communicate using a specific dialect, travel, socialize, and forage as a group, to isolated tanks (Hoyt 6). At the end of the day, orcas are captured and sold because people like you and I pay to watch them do tricks that we find entertaining, for which the orca receives only dead fish. Dolphins are among the most intelligent animals on the planet. They are also very active, swimming up to forty miles in a day, and remaining in motion even as they sleep. Like orcas, dolphins are social creatures who live in pods and stay with their young for four or five years. Most females never leave the pod into which they are born. As with orcas, dolphin capture entails pursuit until the victims are too exhausted to attempt any further escape. A net is then lowered, the pod is trapped, and the dolphins are pulled out of the water. Dolphins between the age of two and four are selected out and kept; the rest are thrown back into the sea. “Some drop dead on the deck, from shock. Many are injured” (Regan, Empty 136). [Fifty-three percent] of those dolphins who survive the violent capture die within 90 days. The average life span of a dolphin in the wild is 45 years; yet half of all captured dolphins die within their first two years of captivity. The survivors last an average of only 5 years in captivity. Every seven years, half of all dolphins in captivity die from capture shock, pneumonia, intestinal disease, ulcers, chlorine poisoning, and other stress-related illnesses. (Finney)

These wild mammals are then kept in concrete tanks or sea cages, sometimes in only six feet of water in an area of roughly twentyfive square feet. These active sea animals have nowhere to swim,

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nowhere to dive, no family, and no pods, and cannot use their sonar when they are surrounded by walls (Finney). Instead, these dolphins are forced to interact with their human captors. They are taught “tricks” to entertain the public. According to Helene O’Barry, companion of Ric O’Barry (who trained Flipper), and co-founder of the Dolphin Project, dolphins “depend totally on their keepers to be fed. Once the hungry dolphins have surrendered to eating dead fish, the trainer teaches them that only when they perform a desired behavior . . . do they receive their reward: a fish” (Regan, Empty 138). Confined animals who abuse themselves (banging their heads against the walls) are creating stimuli which their environment cannot supply. Dolphins in captivity tend to develop stereotypical behaviors (swimming in repetitive circle pattern, with eyes closed and in silence) because of boredom and confinement. This is equivalent to the swaying and pacing of primates, lions, tigers and bears confined in cages. (Finney)

There are an estimated one thousand captive dolphins throughout the world (Regan, Empty 136); the vast majority of them were captured at sea because most captive-born dolphins do not survive any length of time (Finney). Captive dolphins are exploited for human entertainment; in the process their life expectancy is shortened ( just a little over five years) and their quality of life is significantly diminished (Finney). Beanie, a gibbon now under the care of the International Primate Protection League (IPPL), was born in a zoo and then sold to a research laboratory where he became very ill. As a result of his illness, he is now blind and epileptic (McGreal). Neither zoos nor research facilities are interested in Beanie now that he is disabled. He is a cast-off, robbed of his independence long ago, with nowhere to go, and no one in the zoo who wants to look after his needs now that he is no longer lucrative. Such anymals end up in sanctuaries only if they are very lucky. Sanctuaries for wild anymals are chronically full and funded only by private donations from those few people who both know about these anymals and who care enough to send money. Anymals need not be disabled to be cast off by those who once profited from their exploitation. Alan Green, an investigative journalist who wrote Animal Underworld, documented zoos “looking to rid themselves of six hundred mammals, nearly four hundred reptiles, thousands of fish, hundreds of birds, and a variety of invertebrates” on a single day (“Canned” 6–7).

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chapter nine This traffic in exotic animals exists in large part because many zoos depend on baby animals to attract paying customers. When these babies grow up, they must be disposed of to make room for the new crop of babies who will draw a new crowd of customers. Since the public would not tolerate the animals simply being killed by the zoo, they are sold to dealers, who in turn often sell them to research laboratories, roadside petting zoos, and canned hunts. (“Canned” 6)

Anymals are used in zoos and circuses, on television, and in local fairs for the entertainment and “education” of human beings and then discarded when they are no longer profitable. Some cast-off zoo anymals become targets for those who wish to shoot “exotic” animals on “game preserves.” Circus trainers and others who train anymals for the entertainment industry replace normal species behavior with contrived acts, all for the sake of personal profit. Training wild anymals to ride bicycles, jump through flaming hoops, and stand or sit in unnatural positions is generally accomplished with negative reinforcement. “The tools of the trade today are much the same as the tools used by trainers in the past: whips, bullhooks, metal bars, chains, electric prods, muzzles, human fists” (Regan, Empty 130). Kelly Tansy, a former Ringling Brothers performer, reported to the Performing Animal Welfare Society at a press conference in Sacramento: I saw an elephant being beaten in what appeared to be a disciplinary action. The beating was so severe that the elephant screamed. I have come to realize, through all the circuses that I have worked for, that mistreatment of animals is a standard part of training and is thought to be a “necessary” part of exhibiting them. I have seen chimps locked in small cages constantly when not performing; elephants chained continuously; and even animals being beaten during performances. . . . There is no way that an animal can even begin to fulfill a decent life while traveling on the road with the circus. (“Testimony”)

It is not surprising that these wild animals sometimes rebel against those who restrain and manipulate them. Trainers are sometimes attacked; the trainers often respond by destroying “aggressive” anymals, most often with a gun. Between 1990 and 2004, some one hundred people were killed, and forty-three injured, by captive elephants who turned on human beings (“Cruelty”). Tyke, a twentyone-year-old elephant, “was riddled with nearly 100 bullets before dying in the streets of Honolulu after she killed her trainer and tore out of a circus tent” (“Cruelty”). I was foolish enough to witness a

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video of this event, a memory which I cannot shake, and which carries a particular horror that haunts me to this day. All those who pay to attend circuses that exploit anymals—who support these circuses in any way—share responsibility for Tyke’s terrifying, prolonged, and painful death at the hands of her captors and tormentors. The Minimize Harm Maxim is rooted in noninterference. Human beings are expected to leave each living entity to its own independent life, to carry out its natural, biological behaviors, unless we must harm another organism in self-defense or to fulfill a primary need. And we may only harm other entities if we have taken appropriate measures to avoid conflict. Confining, restricting, and training other entities to perform bizarre acts for the sake of human entertainment or education violates the Minimize Harm Maxim. And if such anymals as Tyke turn on us, we are not morally permitted to kill those we have so thoroughly provoked. Given that zoos and circuses exist, what ought we to do? Many caged anymals have lost their ability to survive in the wilds, and it would be grossly immoral to throw a young child or mental patient out on the streets, particularly in the name of “freedom” and “autonomy.” The same holds for most domesticated nonhuman animals. Some could readapt to the wild, perhaps, but we cannot contemplate releasing billions. We would be abrogating the responsibilities to them that we have acquired, not to mention endangering ourselves and other animals through ecological devastation, if we were to do so. No [protectionist] view worth its name could sanction such idiocy. (Pluhar 270)

One of the most well-known cases of such human neglect and misjudgment was that of Lucy, the chimpanzee brought up like a human child by the Temerlins so that she would learn to use sign language. By the time Lucy was ten, she had grown too powerful for safe keeping, and so the study was terminated. “The Temerlins decided it would be best if Lucy were released in Africa to live a ‘free’ life. The trouble was that Africa was as foreign to Lucy as it would be to any ten-year-old who had never been outside Oklahoma” (Pluhar 275). Though volunteers in Africa did what they could to prepare Lucy for life in the jungle with other chimpanzees, she was frightened in her new surroundings and fearful of other chimpanzees. She “repeatedly signed ‘Please help. Lucy wants out. Please help’” (Pluhar 275). Nonetheless, Lucy was released into the jungle. Her body was found not long after, minus hands and feet. The humans she had

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come to trust had betrayed her yet again: “[S]cientists” exploited her for their studies, then abandoned her to the wilds of Africa, where “poachers had killed another human, albeit in a chimpanzee body” (Pluhar 275). Anymals should be rehabituated and returned to the wilds when possible. But those unlikely to survive in the wilds ought to be allowed to live out their lives in spacious, private quarters, in conditions as natural as possible. The Sugarloaf Dolphin Sanctuary, located in the Florida Keys, is a fine example. This sanctuary is designed for dolphins who were once held captive so that they can choose between returning to the open sea and remaining in more familiar surroundings attended by human beings. Good intentions require that such oncecaptive animals exist for their own sake, not for our entertainment or “education.” It is sad that anymals such as Lucy exist—misused for human interests so that they are completely incapable of living a natural and independent life. Nonetheless, many such anymals do exist; providing for their safety and comfort until the end of their days is no less than morality would demand that we do for human beings. We are not entitled to assume, across species and without consent, that confinement is acceptable (or preferable) for anymals. This includes captive breeding and caging “problem” wildlife. While one might argue that captive breeding is well intentioned, a closer look reveals that captive breeding fails to show good intent toward individuals involved. Captive breeding stems from human interest in maintaining genetic diversity. Such breeding is not done for those individuals who are bred, nor on behalf of the species we strive to save. Captive breeding is for our future, in hopes of maintaining biodiversity, a biological state that we deem beneficial to ourselves. Captive breeding is restricted to certain species, mostly birds and mammals, that we have a special interest in preserving out of many that are endangered, out of many that have already been driven to extinction. Meanwhile, for those captured and caged, a great deal is lost. These birds and mammals lose their freedom, autonomy, local companions, and familiar home territory. Basically, they lose everything that is of meaning short of their bodily existence. Consistency and impartiality require that we deal with anymals as we would our own kind. We do not engage in “captive breeding” to preserve “endangered” human races. The last purebred Maori (indigenous to New Zealand) died at the end of the twentieth century;

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there was no systematic effort to continue this particular breed of human. It is considered immoral to control and manipulate human breeding. Casuistry requires similar treatment for similar cases; philosophical consistency and impartiality demand the same response to other dwindling species. Rather than captive breeding, a long-standing ethic of minimizing interference and minimizing harm would likely have assured the continuance of the Maori as well as that of endangered and extinct species. Where “problem” anymals are concerned the Minimize Harm Maxim indicates that we must do all that we can to avoid encounters, yet if such encounters occur (even though we have tried assiduously to avoid them), we may harm an entity that poses a direct threat to personal safety. Shooting circus anymals that we have kept in chains and beaten into performing unnatural acts is unacceptable. (Anymals such as Tyke should be retired to sanctuaries set up to satisfy their personal needs. In the future we ought not to catch and detain such animals.) But what of wild anymals that endanger local residents or those hiking through forests? The Minimize Harm Maxim extends ethics regarding the protection and preservation of human life to other living entities. How do we deal with “problem” humans? We “cage” people who pose problems for others, but caging such humans is not comparable to caging other species for four reasons. First, human beings are morally accountable to human ethics. In contrast, we do not imprison four-year-old children—they are innocent—and for the same reasons we should not imprison black bears or rattlesnakes. Additionally, other species are not accountable to human ethics, and therefore cannot reasonably be imprisoned on the basis of an ethical or legal code about which they have no understanding, and which they play no part in either establishing or maintaining. Second, “problem humans” undergo a rigorous procedure in order to determine whether they ought to be detained. “Caged” humans are determined to be morally culpable and to have willfully broken laws. Nonhuman animals are not morally accountable to human ethics or law, and therefore cannot be put on trial any more than can a small child. Neither do anymals share our language, and so they cannot reasonably participate in legal proceedings. Third, while anymals are generally detained for life, people receive various sentences, only very few of which are life sentences. An

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anymal forced into confinement through no fault of his or her own is often ill suited to ever be returned to a natural environment. Fourth, we cannot legally exploit imprisoned human beings for entertainment. Prisoners are never forced to learn and perform unnatural “tricks” for profit. Nor can they be legally exploited for science or education or sold to other industries. Many humans would rather die than be captured or controlled by others. The likely terror of finding oneself suddenly in a cell— the fear, frustration, loss of freedom and autonomy, and boredom of confinement (not to mention uncertainty regarding one’s captors) are a dreadful thought to most human beings. The horror would be multiplied if our captors were of a completely different species, alien to us in nearly every way imaginable. Caged anymals exhibit behaviors suggesting that they feel similarly about being captured and detained, confined and controlled. Capture and release reveals good intentions toward those captured, and though there is perhaps no human equivalent, this approach seems clearly preferable to ongoing conflicts likely to result in defensive killing. No anymal should be detained, but capture and release seems morally acceptable in situations where such an action will benefit the anymals involved. Consistency, impartiality, and casuistry require an end to zoos and circuses, to captive breeding, and to the caging of anymals for any reason except for their own good. In the Minimize Harm Maxim zoos and circuses are inherently unethical because they are built and maintained for the benefit of human beings at the expense of anymals. Anymals are incapable of offering verbal consent for such exploitation, and because they are more like dependents than equal adults, they could not offer such consent even if they were able. Zoos and circuses, the exploitation of anymals for entertainment, education, and/or profit, fail either to minimize harm or minimize interference. For the sake of impartial and consistent application of human ethical standards across species, the animals-in-entertainment industry ought to be shut down permanently, including zoos and circuses, and the anymals retired to comfortable, private quarters if they are not fit for release into their natural habitat. Children and adults alike will learn much more about anymals from learning that they are not to be caged and exploited than they will from seeing them pace neurotically behind bars or from watching them perform unseemly acts.

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2. Clothing The basic need to cover our bodies against sun and cold entails harming other entities. The Minimize Harm Maxim, consistent with morality regarding the protection and preservation of innocent human life, permits harming other entities in order to satisfy basic interests, so long as one avoids harm when possible and minimizes any harm that cannot be avoided. Approximately forty million anymals are killed per year in order to produce fur products. Of these, roughly thirty-one million are raised on fur farms, leaving eight million to be trapped in the wilds. The U.S. Department of Agriculture reports a total of 324 fur mills in the United States (Regan, Empty 109). Those raised on fur farms remain genetically wild even though they are confined in small cages. As a result, many such “fur bearers” develop neurotic behaviors like pacing or even self-mutilation. Though unheard of in the wild, nearly one in five fox will kill and eat their own offspring under the strained conditions of fur farms (“Fur”). Those raised for hides on fur farms are given a minimum of care. While eight million animals are brought to market from wild traps, many more anymals are killed by traps each year. Traps are indiscriminate, catching dogs, cats, birds, and endangered species—any creature that inadvertently springs the set jaws. Those anymals not considered “fur” anymals are simply cast aside. Any of the anymals caught in traps, whether wanted or unwanted by the fur profiteer, remain pinched in the trap until the one who set the trap comes along to check the lines. The only other option is to chew off a limb and escape back to the wild minus one leg. Anymals sometimes wait for many days in traps, without food or water, in extreme pain. Perhaps the best comparison of what this might be like is to imagine having your hand slammed in a car door. Of course for a person, a car door is not mysterious and terrifying in the way that a steel-jawed trap must be to wild anymals. They have no way to understand the mechanism that holds them so painfully. Yet they must remain in place, waiting until someone happens along to kill them, often by simply clubbing them to death. (Bullets mar the anymal’s fur coat.) What kinds of anymals, and in what numbers, die to create one fur coat, and how do they die? According to a table provided by the Syracuse Animal Rights Organization, the numbers and methods are startling:

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456 Anymal Lynx Fox Rabbit Raccoon Mink Sable Chinchilla Ermine

# necessary 8–12 10–20 30–40 30–40 30–70 60–70 110 125

method of killing trapping, poison trapping, anal electrocution trapping trapping gassing, neck breaking trapping, poison genital electrocution trapping (“Fur”)

Through international trade, cat and dog fur also finds its way onto Western markets. The cuddly stuffed bunny grandpa bought as a gift may have come from a cat or a dog. Short-haired cats and German shepherds are the most common victims (Regan, Empty 118). In other parts of the world people have as little regard for cats and dogs as Westerners do for mink and fox. Aside from the harm done to individual anymals, the fur industry harms the environment. Piles of rotting corpses are not only unseemly, but unhealthy, and somewhat difficult to dispose of in an environmentally friendly manner. Landfills in the state of Montana are sometimes loaded with the skinned bodies of mink. But the rotting corpses are the least of the environmental problems caused by the fur industry. A fur coat requires twenty times more fossil fuels than are necessary to produce a synthetic coat. The fur industry uses “environmental contaminants and possible carcinogens such as formaldehyde and chromium” in the process of turning anymal skins into a human coat (“Fur”); these contaminants eventually end up in the groundwater. The leather industry is no better for the environment. Curing leather involves the same toxic chemicals used to tan and finish fur. These “chemicals are not any better for the people who work with them than they are for the streams and rivers into which their waste eventually flows” (Regan, Empty 119). The leather industry is for cattle what the fur industry is for raccoons. Contrary to common assumptions, leather is not simply a byproduct of the meat industry. Cattle are killed specifically for their skin. Much leather in the Western world comes from India, where once revered cattle have become the targets of leather profiteers. Cattle, many of them too thin or too old to be killed for their flesh, are rounded up and transported for miles in rickety trucks, without

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food or water, to crude slaughterhouses. Many arrive with broken bones. In the United States, anymals exploited for their hides have often suffered the horrors of exploitation in the dairy and flesh industries before their skin becomes leather. Of course cattle are not the only victims of the clothing industry. In considerably smaller quantities, Western peoples also purchase and wear the hides of “pigs, goats, lambs, horses, snakes, boars, deer, frogs, sharks, bison, zebras, kangaroos, alligators, lizards, eels, and elephants” (Regan, Empty 119). Wool, down, and silk also entail unnecessary suffering. Eighty percent of the wool on the market in the United States comes from Australia, where tails are docked, notches are punched in ears, and lambs are castrated without any kind of pain killer. Marino sheep are bred to have such thick coats of wool that maggots will infect certain areas of flesh if the flesh is not cut away. Cutting off the wrinkled skin around the tail to prevent maggot infestation, a procedure called mulesing, is performed without anesthesia. These open wounds take three to five weeks to heal (Regan, Empty 120–23). The soft, downy feathers in pillows and winter coats are plucked, repeatedly, from geese, before they are sent to slaughter, where they fare no better than chickens or cattle. Silkworms are boiled alive “to obtain the lustrous filaments of their cocoons, from which silk is made” (“Compassionate”). Perhaps the most morally questionable clothing product on the Western market is that made from Persian lamb, native to Central Asia; some four million Persian lambs are slaughtered annually (Regan, Empty 117). Persian wool comes from newborn or unborn karakul lambs (also called Persian lambs), bringing a handsome profit, especially if the mother is killed, and the lamb removed before birth. The older the lambs grow, the more their tight, smooth curls begin to unravel. Since premium prices are paid for the tightest, smoothest curls, the lambs are killed anywhere from one to three days after they are born and up to fifteen days before. This latter procedure requires the death of the pregnant mother. . . . A coat made from aborted karakul lambs sells for twice as much as a coat of comparable size made from those newly born, as much as twelve thousand dollars for the latter but more than twenty-five thousand dollars for the former. (Regan, Empty 117)

Consistent with morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life, we may not kill others simply because we would like

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to use their skins. Inasmuch as we must have something to cover our bodies against the sun and the cold, we must minimize harm in securing our needs. Killing low on the food chain minimizes harm. Most specifically, by utilizing plants rather than anymals we avoid the harm of pain, as well as increased harm to the environment. This will be discussed in detail in the next section because clothing choice parallels food choice in many ways. In both instances, the Minimize Harm Maxim requires choices that reduce suffering and the use of chemicals. 3. Diet The number of animals killed for fur in the U.S. each year is approximately equal to the human population of Illinois. The number of animals killed for experimentation in the U.S. each year is approximately equal to the human population of Texas. The number of mammals and birds farmed and slaughtered [for food] in the U.S. each year is approximately equal to one and two-thirds the entire human population of Earth. (Ball 4)

Anymals consume other entities in order to persist; for the human animal, choosing a diet is an ethical matter. Wild carnivores cannot survive without killing other creatures for food. “The well-being and freedom of predators require the killing of others. Even if . . . they were able to decide that morally they ought not to kill, any such decision would be suicidal” (Pluhar 276). Human beings can choose not to eat anymals, or anymal products, without harming their health in the least. There is no nutritional need for most human beings to eat any anymal products, dairy, flesh, or eggs. “As intelligent and sensitive human beings, we can acknowledge the harshness of the world, and yet not accept it at all. We are not merely at the top of the food chain. We are, in an important sense, above the food chain. . . . We have what is uncritically called ‘free will.’ We are able to reflect and choose our food, our habits, our breeding patterns” (Solomon 69). Sprout is a calf that arrived at Farm Sanctuary from a Pennsylvania farm weak from want of food and water due to leg infections. The lower portion of both hind legs was swollen to twice the normal size with large, open sores. Davey and Stylar arrived from the same farm, along with their mothers, Misty and Gracyn. Both of the mothers had such severe udder infections that they were unable to nurse their young. These unfortunate individuals, and roughly twenty-five others,

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were rescued from a “beef ” facility where a visiting veterinary described the cows as “very thin” and their conditions as overcrowded, standing in more then three feet of manure with inadequate ventilation, no food, and no water except a frozen barrel of rainwater (Bauston). Cattle that are raised simply to be exploited for food only matter inasmuch as they bring a profit to those who “own” them. It is not unusual for these anymals to have pathetic lives and horrid deaths. Sprout, Davey, and Stylar are but three of millions raised to produce ice cream and cheese, hamburgers and steak. Cattle sold simply for beef, in the United States alone, number more than thirtyfive million (Regan, Empty 98). My sister runs a small sanctuary for rescued animals. She adopted two tiny white “broilers,” Loise and Shirley. After about six months, as they reached maturity, they grew increasingly sedentary, moving about only with great difficulty. Their hearts and legs could not sustain their ample flesh. Their breathing soon became labored, and neither hen lived for more than one year. “Broiler” hens like Loise and Shirley are bred to grow so rapidly that their hearts and legs cannot sustain their bulk. Healthy, normal hens live active lives for up to fifteen years (Davis, Prisoned 130). But Loise and Shirley were “man-made” birds, birds bred solely for human consumption, birds bred in such a way that they were unable to function as living beings. Actor James Cromwell was cast as the farmer in the movie Babe. During the course of the movie he discovered that pigs are intelligent, with distinct personalities, and that piglets have a lively sense of fun and play. People in the West each eat about thirty-two pigs during the course of their lifetime (Wardle). Roughly 100 million pigs are raised and slaughtered annually in the United States alone (“Factory”). When James Cromwell came to know just a handful of piglets, he stopped eating them; Cromwell is now a vegan. The Minimize Harm Maxim is an extension of morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life. As noted above, people cannot eat one another unless they must do so to survive. We are forbidden to eat other people simply because we favor their taste. Eating other people is immoral and illegal. What we choose to eat is morally relevant; through our food choices we ought to minimize harm. Calves with sores on their legs, hens with hearts that cannot sustain their bulky bodies, and pigs sent to slaughter in their youth—these do not minimize harm. Those who

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eat only fruits cause the least harm. When we eat foods such as apples, berries, tomatoes, grapes, or bananas we do not harm the plant, or necessarily even the seeds of the plant. Eating fruit may actually be beneficial to the plant from which the fruit is taken, as those who eat fruits can spread the plant’s seeds. Eating nuts interferes with a plant’s endeavor to reproduce, because potential plants are destroyed when nuts (seed) are eaten. But plants do not suffer when nuts are eaten; plants have no central nervous system and are incapable of suffering under any conditions. However, many things are in a plant’s interest, such as proper portions of light and water, just as Western medicine and law note that there are certain things that are in the interest of anencephalic infants. But science indicates that neither Baby K nor plants are conscious or sentient. They do not know or experience anything that happens to their physical being; they are not able to think or feel anything. Neither entity has mechanisms of knowing (functioning brain) or suffering (central nervous system). Eating fruits is the preferred diet in the Minimize Harm Maxim, followed by the consumption of nuts, followed by a vegan diet. A vegan consumes no anymal products. Vegans harm plants, but do not cause suffering. Additionally, the vegan diet avoids environmental harm caused by raising anymals for consumption. By contrast, a vegetarian food choice results in considerably more harm than a vegan diet, but not as much harm as a carnivore who eats flesh, dairy, and eggs. If one is a vegetarian, one increases harm by eating anymal products such as milk and eggs. Anymals are exploited and ultimately slaughtered so that people can consume milk and eggs. One might think that subsisting on the nursing milk of cattle would bring about less harm than eating flesh or plants because nothing needs to die for the consumption of nursing milk: neither cow nor calf are necessarily harmed. But in the Western world in particular, the dairy industry is the cause of much of the most grievous suffering and loss of life in the anymal industries. Like humans, cows do not lactate unless they bear young. Only after being impregnated and giving birth will a cow’s mammary glands produce milk. If her female calves are kept alive, they (like their mothers) will live a considerably shortened life of perpetual impregnation and milk production to satisfy human tastes. They are likely to be sent off to slaughter for their flesh after just three or four years

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of exploitation, though healthy cattle could live for twenty-five years. “Fully 40 percent of the hamburger sold in stores and restaurants comes from the flesh of discarded dairy cows” (Regan, Empty 98). Cows robbed of their milk live a life of confinement; many stand on concrete floors all of their lives, causing joint pain. Genetic manipulation, selective breeding, and hormone treatments have increased mammary gland output in cattle so that some cows produce ten times as much milk as is natural for a cow. Obviously, this causes considerable discomfort, and about twenty percent suffer from “mastitis, an inflammation of the udder” (Regan, Empty 98). Cattle raised and kept for their body fluids are also harmed by the removal of their young at birth, or very shortly thereafter. Male “dairy” calves—roughly half the calves born in the process of causing a cow to lactate—are usually subjected to the horrors of the veal industry. Veal calves (along with battery hens) are among the most neglected and abused victims of our food industry. If vegetarians who have given up meat for the sake of anymals knew of the suffering inherent in the veal industry (and the egg industry), they would likely give up dairy (and eggs) along with flesh. But most people are unaware of the suffering entailed in bringing mozzarella cheese and vanilla ice cream to our tables. Veal are “surplus calves,” those born to cows who were only bred to force lactation (Regan, Empty 90). Veal calves are taken from their mothers at birth. Someone who has never seen a cow who has lost her calf cannot imagine the suffering entailed in this simple act of robbing both the newborn and the mother of their natural bond. The milk intended for these calves is consumed by those eating chocolate ice cream cones and blueberry yogurt, while the calf is raised on an artificial diet deficient in iron. Veal calves are fed “a combination of nonfat powdered milk, vitamins, minerals, sugar, antibiotics, and growth-enhancing drugs” (Regan, Empty 91). A veal calf ’s diet is designed to keep the calf anemic in order to produce the light-colored flesh desired by consumers. Because the calves crave iron, they must be prevented from licking iron bars or their own urine (obviously an unnatural behavior among healthy calves) and are therefore tethered in small stalls. Calves are playful by nature, and in a calf-friendly setting they form bonds not only with their mothers but with other calves, their playmates. But neither drinking mother’s iron-rich milk nor playing

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in the fields is conducive to producing the tender, pale flesh that veal eaters consume. So veal calves are confined, for the duration of their short lives, in small, individual stalls. “Recommended stall dimensions in the United States” for a single veal calf, “are 24 inches wide by 65 inches long” (Regan, Empty 91). The stalls have slats on the floors, but the calves “lie in their own waste. When they stand, their footing is unsure on the slippery slats. Unable to turn around, the calves cannot clean themselves. Unable to move without the prospect of slipping, they learn to stand in one place for long periods of time, a passive adjustment to their surroundings that takes its toll on their anatomy, especially their knees, which often are discernibly swollen and painful” (Regan, Empty 92). These gregarious, energetic calves are denied the simple pleasure of walking, the basic instinct to be near or touch another of their kind. Anymals raised for human consumption also contribute to the degradation of the environment. Cattle are large and heavy. They now inhabit fenced lands where buffalo and pronghorn antelope once roamed, destroying indigenous vegetation and upsetting ecosystems. They contaminate water sources and release methane gas into the biosphere. Most cattle raised for the anymal industries are fed grain at some point along their journey to premature death (as is the case in feedlots, where almost all cattle are shipped before slaughter). Those fed processed plants or grains consume once-living entities that were raised and destroyed solely for anymal feed. Those who choose to consume products made from the nursing milk of cattle compound harm and destruction of life because the cattle themselves harm plants in order to subsist. If we consume those that eat other life-forms (such as cows that eat corn or grass), rather than directly eating entities that live by photosynthesis (plants), we increase harm exponentially. The ill effects of agribusiness multiply exponentially the harm caused by consuming anymal fluids and body parts. Agribusinesses use massive quantities of fossil fuels, pesticides, and fertilizers in the process of growing feed for cattle. Consuming anymal parts is inefficient and environmentally damaging: [Ninety] percent of the protein, 99 percent of the carbohydrate, and 100 percent of the fiber value of grain is wasted by cycling it through livestock, and currently 64 percent of the U. S. grain crop is fed to

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livestock. Thus, by adopting a more vegetarian diet, people . . . could significantly reduce the amount of farmland that has to be kept in production to feed the human population. This change, in turn, could have beneficial effects on the whole biotic community by eliminating the amount of soil erosion and environmental pollutants that are a result of the raising of livestock. For example, it has been estimated that 85 percent of the U.S. topsoil lost from cropland, pasture, range land, and forest land is directly associated with raising livestock. (Sterba 202–03)

The effects of these industries on the environment are so great that one cannot rationally say that one is both a flesh eater and an environmentalist. Vegetarians also consume eggs, and chickens suffer terribly from the egg industry. Chicks are sexed shortly after they hatch; male chicks are discarded. Along with defective and slow-hatching female chicks, the U.S. egg industry trashes 250 million male chicks as soon as they hatch because the males don’t lay eggs. Instead of being sheltered by their mother’s wings, the newborns are ground up alive or thrown into trash cans where they slowly suffocate on top of one another, peeping pitifully as a human foot stomps them down to make room for more chicks. (Davis, “Poultry” 4)

Female chicks undergo the painful process of debeaking and then begin a miserable life crowded in small cages. Hens raised to produce eggs for human consumption cannot fulfill their natural instincts of dusting, flying, roosting, or even rearing young. Members of Compassion Over Killing, who engaged in an undercover investigation of the lives of hens in the egg industry, reported that it is “impossible to imagine what life is like for the 300 million egg-laying hens hidden away in the U.S. battery cage facilities. They are victims of arguably the cruelest form of factory farming in modern animal agribusiness” (“Cracking” 4). Indeed, seeing the photos they had taken, it is difficult to imagine the lives of these hens, and what they had been through. While egg eaters chew on the hoped-for offspring of a subjugated hen, such hens lay eggs almost perpetually, but are never permitted to nest. They are deprived of the little chicks. Life for battery hens is bleak:

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chapter nine This must constitute, in both magnitude and severity, the single most severe, systematic example of man’s inhumanity to another sentient animal. . . . [T]hese animals are in chronic pain for one third of their short, six-week lives, only 10% are able to walk normally, up to 6% die during rearing, 4% have chronic arthritis, 3% break their bones, and 2 million of them die during transport each year. In 1994 some 7 billion of these animals were in the United States, 4 billion in Europe, and 719 million in the United Kingdom. (Orlans 255)

Buying eggs is not only harmful to hens but also to habitat—the environment. As with cattle, birds in cages must be fed. Hens and turkeys are fed grains produced through the same harmful process as grains fed to cattle. Anymals on factory farms are typically “bored, frustrated, and fearful” (Mason 21). The lives of factory-farmed anymals are run by economics; profit speaks, not morality. “Animal factories are one more sign of the extent to which our technological capacities have advanced faster than our ethics” (Mason 125). [F]actory farms “reduce” the animals made to live in them. For one thing, the very confinement of the animals makes their natural development impossible. Confinement also usually pushes the animals past the point at which their social instincts can offer them emotional and social equilibrium. Caged chickens are cut off from any social relations whatsoever, while others, raised 100,000 to a giant shed, are “debeaked” (have their beaks cut off ) so that they can’t peck each other to death in their fury and confusion. All “stock” are bred for maximum weight gain. Pigs are often so bloated that they cannot even copulate . . . artificial insemination is coming into vogue. There are already chickens who gain weight so fast that they cannot walk, and deformities and unexplained deaths abound. Research veterinarians argue that chickens already “have been bred to grow so fast that they are on the verge of structural collapse” —while genetic engineers speak with enthusiasm about soon breeding chickens that have no heads at all. (Weston 119–20, quote from Wise, “Dyschondroplasia” 285–86)

Vegetarians need to know that they cause tremendous harm to anymals by eating omelets or macaroni and cheese. It is not enough to remove the bacon from the omelet, the ham from the macaroni and cheese—at least not if one cares about chickens and cattle. Neither is it adequate to buy “free-range” or “humane” products. These somewhat randomly applied labels are not adequately defined, nor are any specific regulations enforced in order to make a difference to the anymals who are exploited on “humane” farms. “Humane” and “free-range” farms would never be acceptable if human beings

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were the victims. Cattle and chickens raised on “humane” or “freerange” farms are still slaughtered in the prime of their lives; they endure the same horrors of transport and slaughter as any other anymal in the food industry. If you are not familiar with what occurs in a slaughterhouse, view the video at meetyourmeat.com, or visit www.tomregan-animalrights.com, or scan the information of “Viva!” online (for example http://www.vivausa.org/activistresources/guides/nutrition1.htm or http://www.vivausa.org/activistresources/guides/healthiestdietofall1. htm). Slaughter, any way you look at it, is ugly. Farm anymals are not adequately protected by legislation, enforcement of what regulations we do have is inadequate, and violations are common. A government report released early in 2004 noted most frequent violations entailed ineffective stunning of anymals prior to slaughter. The third most common offense was the slaughter of animals that were fully conscious. Violations were witnessed in nearly one-third of U.S. slaughterhouses. Violations include “dragging sick and/or disabled animals, excessive use of electric prods, improper stunning and the shackling and processing of conscious animals” (“Government”). This is not surprising, given that just forty-nine processing plants are responsible for slaughtering eighty percent of those killed. “In some plants more than 1,000 animals per hour are killed by individual workers, making the likelihood of violations almost certain” (“Government”). The slaughter of chickens is no better. Undercover videos reveal wounded or sick chickens and turkeys being beaten to death with baseball bats and metal pipes. “Cervical dislocation, or ‘neck-wringing,’ is a standard farming practice for getting rid of unwanted birds, who are typically thrown with their broken necks on ‘dead piles’ where they slowly and painfully suffocate” (Davis, “Poultry” 3). Laying hens that are beyond their prime are sometimes most efficiently disposed of, and most economically destroyed, by being bulldozed into the ground while still alive (Davis, “Poultry” 4). Minimizing interference and minimizing harm require us to avoid investing in mammary fluids, reproductive eggs, and flesh. It is morally preferable to eat only fruit, to be a fruitarian. The vegan diet is second best because eating plants and grains, nuts and fruits, need cause no suffering. The vegetarian diet is little better than flesh eating when one investigates the harm caused by eating eggs and consuming milk products, when one takes a closer look at the life of a

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hen in a battery cage or that of a veal calf. Humans are not permitted to eat one another, or to manipulate pregnancies to gain the nursing milk of mothers, or to eat the reproductive materials of other women. Like human beings, anymals suffer, and manipulating them for our purposes is contrary to the Minimize Harm Maxim; it is also completely unnecessary for a healthy diet. In fact, the consumption of animal products is linked to a handful of serious health problems, including a couple of the most common and notorious contemporary killers in Western countries: cancer and heart disease. “A vegetarian diet helps to prevent cancer. Numerous epidemiological and clinical studies have shown that vegetarians are nearly 50 percent less likely to die from cancer than non-vegetarians. . . . Vegetarian diets also help prevent heart disease. Animal products are the main source of saturated fat and the only source of cholesterol in the diet. Vegetarians avoid these risky products. Additionally, fiber helps reduce cholesterol levels, and animal products contain no fiber” (“Vegetarian”). A diet devoid of anymal products may not only be the best moral choice, but a prudent choice. Minimizing harm to oneself indicates that we ought not to eat bacon or ice cream, cheddar cheese or ham sandwiches. (For information on health and diet, type in “vegan” or go to the website of the Physician’s Committee for Responsible Medicine, http://www.pcrm.org/). Regardless of human health, eating other animals is a choice, and is very harmful to those anymals that are consumed. Some feel that maintaining traditions is important, including dietary traditions, even if those traditions increase harm to anymals. Traditions offer continuity and a sense of belonging. Ancient practices can prevent people from becoming dependent on outside sources for basic needs. Some people feel that hunting is a traditional activity that many communities have a right to maintain. Let us assume that an individual at risk of starving acquires ammunition for a semiautomatic rifle specifically so that she and her community might kill other creatures in order to persist (including the hunting of neighboring peoples). Availability of modern weapons and ammunition demonstrates access to resources, including food sources and a diet lower on the food chain. If a hunter is able to acquire products such as guns and ammunition, she can just as easily order baked beans and fleece, flour and cotton—or starters for planting hemp and potatoes. Weapons perpetuate a lifestyle that fails to minimize harm.

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In the past some hunter-gatherers could not have survived without wearing and eating body parts from anymals. Times change. “Hunter-gatherers” who import flour and coffee on Monday and shoot ducks and rabbits on Tuesday are sport killers. It is dishonest to claim that those who live close to the land in contemporary Western countries can hunt or trap and show respect for anymals (A. Taylor, “Animal” 254). Those who destroy living entities unnecessarily do not show respect for life. If vegetable products such as cotton or hemp can be imported or grown, trapping is unnecessary; if tea and flour are being imported, hunting is unnecessary. Three important considerations arise concerning hunting and tradition: what constitutes “tradition,” internal conflicts with regard to tradition, and the myth of independence. Webster’s Dictionary defines “tradition” as an act or idea that has been handed down from the past, a “long established or inherited way of thinking or acting,” a “continuing pattern” of customary methods. This definition indicates that any significant break in continuity ends a “tradition.” Tradition refers to customary methods that have been maintained continuously over an extended period of time. People cannot return to traditional methods. Once the tradition has been abandoned—for whatever reason—the tradition cannot be restored or reestablished as a traditional practice. This definition also indicates that methods are important. Contemporary Western hunters use modern methods even for “traditional” hunts; most “traditional” hunters are indistinguishable from other modern-day hunters. By definition, if traditional methods have not been continuously maintained across generations, an activity is not traditional. Hunting with modern weapons does not, and cannot, qualify as traditional. Furthermore, when tradition conflicts with more fundamental ethics, Western morality and law have set a precedent for upholding ethics at the expense of tradition. For instance, when tradition threatens human life, tradition is systematically destroyed; head-hunting, cannibalism, and slavery are apt examples of cultural traditions that are considered immoral, and which are illegal. When one’s tradition is head-hunting, rather than deer hunting, people make haste to ban cultural heritage. Consistency and impartiality require that we extend this precedent for preserving human life over and above preserving tradition to all living entities that have not been shown to be different from

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human beings in morally significant ways. Our reaction to slavery and head-hunting indicates that yesterday’s “traditional” hunt must be acknowledged as today’s bad habit. Persistence of culture, though important, is not as important as preserving the fundamental health and welfare of individuals. As a matter of consistency, the Minimize Harm Maxim is as decisive about protecting all living entities from life-threatening traditions as most Westerners are about protecting human life. Finally, we must consider the issue of dependence with regard to traditional hunting. Advocates of “tradition” sometimes argue that minorities or individuals who do not wish to be dependent on outsiders for sustenance ought to be able to maintain their independence and autonomy by hunting, which can prevent such people from becoming reliant on distant or outside help. Yet most of these same hunters are contented to be dependent on imported weapons, ammunition, sugar, and coffee. Not only does this suggest that their lifestyles are not “traditional,” but also that any meaningful measure of “independence” has been lost long ago. The Minimize Harm Maxim indicates that people should choose to depend on merchants who sell rice and potatoes rather than on those who sell weapons. In either case they are dependent, but only in the former instance do they minimize harm. 4. Science Peppy is another gibbon under the care of the International Primate Protection League. He was injected with a fatal cancer virus when he was just three months old. Somehow he never developed the disease, and he was eventually offered to IPPL. Because he was taken from his mother at such a young age and exploited for research, he “was like a lost child” (McGreal). Peppy sucked his thumb with such vigor that the flesh became raw and exposed; he nearly lost his thumb. Obviously, Peppy was a very disturbed youngster when he arrived into the protective care of the sanctuary. What happens behind the scenes with these many victims of science? Science has brought many wonderful things to our world, from Velcro to computers, from aspirin to cameras. However, science has also brought many morally problematic materials and practices into our world, such as pesticides and Styrofoam, antifreeze and nuclear energy, dissection and transport by gas-powered engines, genetic engineering and atom bombs.

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In the West, science has generally been divorced from morality— and sometimes devoid of common sense. This does not diminish the good that science has brought to our world, or the good intentions of many scientists, but it does require us to examine what science claims to offer, particularly those things that science produces at the expense of life itself. No one knows how many anymals are exploited and killed for science each year. In the United States, the Animal Welfare Act (AWA) provides absolutely no protection for many anymals exploited by science: rats, mice, birds, farmed animals, and fish account for at least ninety percent of the victims of science, and they do not qualify as anymals under the AWA. The lives of these individuals are therefore not counted among the exploited or killed; neither are they offered even the most remedial legal protection (Regan, Empty 172). Victor J. Wilson and Alan D. Miller both built careers around anymal research. Wilson has been experimenting on anymals for thirty-six years, spending more than 3.4 million tax dollars in his lab work with anymals. His research involves paralyzing cats with drugs, collapsing their lungs, inserting electrodes into their brains, and locking them into a stereotaxic frame. Wilson inserts tubes, electrodes, and transducers throughout the cats’ bodies so he can drug, shock and manipulate his helpless victims any way he chooses. He suspends them by hip pins and a spinal clamp while cementing their heads to computer-driven head rotators. Wilson even carves open the spinal cord to expose selected areas, and shocks them with electrodes. (“Curiosity”)

Miller, Wilson’s protégé, also experiments on anymals. Miller separates living cats’ brains from their spinal cords and paralyzes them. He then pumps them full of nausea-inducing drugs in doses literally hundreds of times greater than the dose a human would ever receive. Because of the paralytic drugs, the cats can’t actually vomit. . . . In one particularly horrific experiment, a cat was forced to vomit 97 times in less than 4 hours! At the end of the ordeal, the cat was killed. (“Curiosity”)

Huntingdon Life Sciences (HLS) kills roughly five hundred anymals each day for the cause of science, including dogs and cats, mice and rabbits, and primates. According to SHAC (Stop Huntingdon Animal Cruelty), a group organized to shut down a lab that experimented

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on anymals at HLS, Huntingdon has killed 1,300 dogs, 20,000 cats, 85,000 primates, 6,644,700 rodents, 255,000 rabbits, 515,000 fish, 390,000 birds, and 960,000 other animals since 1952. (This information was gained through Animal Plant Health Inspection Services, through the use of the Freedom of Information Act (SHAC).) At Huntingdon, anymals “are forced to inhale, ingest, and endure exposure to excessive amounts of products such as weed killers, pesticides, tanning lotions, diet pills, and genetically modified organisms . . . for weeks or months on end. Then they are killed and dissected” (“Huntingdon”). Huntingdon may be exceptional in its size and scope, but not in its activities. Forcing anymals to inhale, ingest, and be exposed to dangerous chemicals is standard practice for toxicity tests. “Different toxicity tests use different methods. Sometimes animals are forced to ingest the test substance, sometimes they are made to inhale it, and in other cases the substance is applied to the skin of the eye. Though the exact figure is not known, there is no doubt that millions of animals are used in these tests” or that they suffer greatly from such exploitation (Regan, Empty 166). Dissection only became popular during the second decade of the last century; currently “America’s high school and university students annually dissect more than six million animals” (Regan, Empty 160). It is not surprising that providing anymals for students of science and medicine is a multimillion dollar industry. The conditions, treatment, and deaths of some of these anymals were revealed in another undercover investigation, this time by People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Cats were forced into cramped crates with violent jabs of a metal hook, then placed in a gas chamber. Some of these cats were household pets, lost or stolen, or cats who were dropped off at the local shelter in hopes that someone else would take them home. The undercover investigator reported that many of the cats were still moving when formaldehyde was pumped into their veins. “They clench their paws as the chemicals surge through their bodies. They are then stored and packaged and eventually shipped to schools all around the country” (Regan, Empty 160–61). All this in spite of the fact that students using alternative methods of learning anatomy score equal to or better than those using dead anymals (Regan, Empty 160–61). Experimenting on anymals does not satisfy any basic need for scientists or students; no one experiment is necessary for the survival of

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any one individual. Some experiments have proven essential to the lives of particular individuals after the fact, but this is not a predictable outcome—no single experiment is done because it is necessary or will surely save a certain life—or any life at all. While experimentation entails uncertain outcomes, the anymal “subjects” for such experiments are always harmed because they are exploited without consent for someone else’s possible gain. Much experimentation does nothing to help anyone, except perhaps a researcher who gains personal benefit from published work. But publishing is not a basic need. Is anymal research permissible because scientists have good intentions? While such an experimenter’s final intent may be admirable, his short-term intentions are deplorable: Scientists who experiment on anymals frustrate, infect with diseases, remove vital body parts, and inject alien substances into subjects that cannot refuse to participate. While harm is not the ultimate intent of scientific research, those who experiment on anymals purposefully and directly harm those they exploit. Such acts do not constitute good intentions; nor do they minimize harm. Consistent with generally accepted current Western ethics among human beings, it is permissible to fight directly against disease in selfdefense, but not to exploit others toward this end. If, for the purpose of securing personal survival, exploitation of others was acceptable, then an individual with liver cancer might capture a healthy replacement organ from a neighbor. This is not permissible. Consistent with morality among humans, the Minimize Harm Maxim does not allow people to exploit others in order to satisfy personal ends. Neither are scientists morally justified in exploiting other life-forms in hopes of finding cures for those that have, or might come to have, biological shortcomings, including cancerous cells and harmful viruses. Noninterference requires that we allow other entities to exist as they are. Minimizing harm forbids the use of other living entities for hypothetical medical benefit, or as reservoirs for spare parts. The Minimize Harm Maxim is an extension of contemporary morality concerning human life. If ethics regarding innocent human life should change to allow for forced experimentation on a few human beings for the benefit of the many, then the Minimize Harm Maxim would also permit such experimentation. The Minimize Harm Maxim is simply an extension of widely accepted contemporary Western ethics, and law, regarding the protection and preservation

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of human life. It is morally and legally unacceptable to force other people to be subjects in any kind of research. For some, sacrificing human life for science poses no moral problem. “Not only have experiments on the retarded and senile taken place in the past—including the U.S. Willowbrook study, in which retarded children were given hepatitis with the consent of their parents— they continue to occur now” (Pluhar 176). Some scientists would gladly experiment on human beings, if such experiments were legal. When Bernard Rollin asked a scientist why he did not use human children rather than anymals, the exasperated scientist replied, “Because they won’t let us!” (Pluhar 123). But most of us feel moral outrage over the Tuskegee syphilis studies in which hundreds of African American men with syphilis “were allowed to go untreated for forty years (1932–1972) in order for the U.S. Public Health Service to determine the long-term effects of the disease. These men died in agony decades after a simple cure for the disease—penicillin—had been found” (Pluhar 176). But experimenting on human beings without their consent is morally objectionable to most Western peoples, and it is most certainly illegal. If the Tuskegee and Willowbrook experiments are immoral, if we cannot remove body parts from Baby Theresa in the hope of keeping more viable infants alive, then we ought not to use other life-forms for medical advancement. If morality requires that we protect innocent life, then it is morally objectionable to trade off the lives of white mice, rhesus monkeys, lost or homeless dogs, and less powerful human beings against the hopes of those who are ailing or dying. Living beings cannot be sacrificed for science by those who have the power and inclination to do so. It may well be that many of us would kill anything in sight—would kill everyone in sight—to save our loved ones. But one of the roles of morality and law is to protect us against these inclinations, not to foster them. This does not mean that the Minimize Harm Maxim leaves us helpless in the face of disease. It is morally permissible to fight to persist against such living entities as bacteria, invading cells, or viruses, just as it is morally acceptable to defend yourself against feral children, angry men, or grizzly bears. Self-defense is morally permissible when faced with a direct threat to immediate personal survival. Furthermore, consistent with contemporary morality and law, adults of sound mind who offer consent may be used for some types of experimentation.

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For instance, people who are ill and wish to try a new, untested drug, or those who might be able to save loved ones by risking unknown operations or medicines, or those who might help someone much younger by giving their body to science may do so. Contemporary Western morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life does not permit any human beings to exploit others in order to save their own life. No matter how talented, rational, powerful, artistic, or influential an individual might be, it is immoral to forcefully exploit other people in hopes of regaining one’s health. Current Western ethics, as most of us were taught in school, generally assert that might does not make right. The Minimize Harm Maxim extends this commonly accepted ethic to protect all living entities. One might be willing to kill a dormouse, a million dormice, or the very last dormouse on earth to save a loved one, but such exploitation is hardly commendable. A mother might be willing to destroy an entire city to save her children. As Peter Singer noted in The Expanding Circle, many of our attitudes and much of our behavior are dictated by biology. More specifically, biology dictates concern for the survival of one’s genotype. But such concerns take us only so far, and it is not very far at all. One is deeply concerned with one’s offspring (“children” seems overly personal in this context), one is less concerned with one’s sibling’s offspring, and one is decreasingly concerned at all with the offspring of another family, another tribe, another species. Thus the familiar paradox—the “good” man or woman who is wholly devoted to his or her family and friends but oblivious to the rest of the world. Ethics, however, cannot be so limited, and it is against this too cozy restricted picture of personal goodness that the abstractions and theories of reason offer a more global balance. Ethics is neither personal in the too limited sense nor is it abstract in the global sense, but it is rather a process of enlarged awareness that Peter Singer (following W. E. H. Lecky) calls “the expanding circle.” (Solomon 70)

For a mother to destroy an entire city, or even a vagabond who shows up at her door, to save her ailing child is not only immoral but illegal. In the West, morality and law protect innocent life against those who would exploit others to protect themselves or their loved ones. Ethics offer an ideal, not a defense of our most selfish tendencies. More precisely, our powerful instinct to live is exactly why we need to have ethical codes and laws rooted in this morality. The Minimize Harm Maxim reminds us that human illness is our problem; we may

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not destroy anymals in an effort to save ourselves. Experimentation on animals that cannot freely give verbal consent—whether human or otherwise—is never justified. 5. Anymal Companions Lola was bought from a breeder for $350 as a cute baby. She was put into a cat harness and tethered with a three-foot leash, where she languished, in a three-foot circle, for four months. She quickly grew out of her harness, but no one seemed to notice; her flesh grew around the harness so that she bled when rescue workers set her free. Lola is a pot-bellied “pet” pig (Woods) now under the care of the Pigs Peace Sanctuary in Washington state. Sasha was “the gift nobody wanted,” a rabbit who turned up on a golf course shortly after Easter. Sasha, abandoned in a dangerous world of people and cars, soon had a broken hip. She was rescued and brought to Best Friends Sanctuary, where she, and her offspring Twinkle, hopefully await a home where she is actually wanted by the person who carries her home (“More”). Scooter, a dog, is also at Best Friends. He was found wandering around the Arizona desert, without food or water, by two passing hikers. Scooter is blind, and it is impossible to know how he survived on the desert until found. It seems unlikely that he would have survived more than a day or two in the hot sun without water. Scooter also awaits adoption in a loving home (“Thanking”). Why was Scooter left in the desert to wander in the dark without food or water? Why was Sasha abandoned on a golf course? Why was Lola purchased and then neglected? Why was Kara, a black leopard, “abandoned in sub-zero temperatures in a garage in Wyoming, with no food or water, suffering from frostbitten ears, paws, and tail?” (Shambala). Did the people who bought him think he would stay in the cuddly kitten stage forever? Did they neglect to think through what they would do when he grew into the big cat that he was meant to be? Did they have no idea what it would cost to feed and house a full-grown panther? Or was Kara abandoned for all these reasons, combined with the fact that almost all wildlife sanctuaries in Western countries, sanctuaries that function only through donations—probably none of which come from those who breed and sell exotic animals—are perpetually full to capacity (“Wild” 3)? Aside from the ill effects on the individuals involved, individuals

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like Kara and Lola, the trade in exotic pets is wiping out certain wild species. The Worldwatch Institute reports that wild birds are disappearing fast: “[A]lmost a third of the world’s 330 parrot species are threatened with extinction due to pressures from collecting for the pet trade, combined with habitat loss” (“Avian” 10). Mortality among these captive birds is somewhere between forty-five and seventy-five percent due to “poor nutrition, stress, and overcrowding” (“Avian” 10). Near where I live, just one of the local shelters for abandoned and unwanted “pets” cared for roughly one thousand kittens in one season (“Kittens” 8). In the United States ten thousand puppies and kittens are born each day, eight to ten million end up in shelters annually, and four to five million of those are euthanized (“Spaying”). Meanwhile, pet shops buy puppies from “puppy mills,” where bitches are forced to produce litter after litter in cramped quarters, without the benefit of gentle words or a kind touch, with neither companionship nor exercise, and too often without veterinary care (“Beware”). Moral questions are at the center of all of our relations with anymals. For dogs and cats, pot-bellied pigs and parrots, how can we protect them from negligent or cruel “owners” who view these anymals as expendable or as property? What are nonhuman companion animals to be fed if not foods created from the bodies of other exploited animals? Where can anymal companions roam where other creatures will not be disturbed by hunting cats and chasing dogs? How might we deal with the prodigious amount of waste produced by such anymals? What are we to do with “unwanted pets”? Before any of these questions can be answered, we must examine the term “pet,” which does not begin to describe the relationship between a human being and an anymal. This term fails to capture the responsibilities, the depth of connection that can exist between anymals and people, and it sidesteps the moral dilemmas entailed in such a relationship. For this reason, many people are choosing to call these anymals “companions” or “dependents” or even “family.” The very notion of anymals as “pets” or “investments” or “breeding stock” is morally objectionable. Whatever our proper relationship with myriad other species might be, it is not one of “owning pets” for a host of reasons. Exaggerated numbers of “domestic” anymals cause tremendous harm to other living entities; roughly seventy million small anymals

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are killed by domestic cats every year (Wilkins 75). Even what we feed our pets, as opposed to what they catch in the wild, harms anymals. Pet foods are made with body parts of factory-farmed anymals: cows, chickens, turkeys, sheep, and pigs. Pet foods line the coffers of those who own and operate slaughterhouses, and of those who sell anymals to slaughterhouses. And the “pets” themselves often suffer at our hands. Companion anymals “may be subjected to deliberate cruelty, but also, and perhaps more commonly, may become victims of mere indifference and neglect” (Benton 71). Nonhuman companion animals are as much of a responsibility as any other live-in relative. . . . Those not willing to accept the responsibility of adding a full-fledged member to the family should get pet rocks or teddy bears instead. [Consider] the sundry ways in which humans violate . . . “pets,” from routine mutilation of ears and tails to casual abandonment when the humans find it “convenient.” . . . We also behave irresponsibly if we condemn companion animals and their offspring to endless rounds of reproduction. (Pluhar 271)

Part of the problem is that legislation cannot possibly protect anymals, viewed as property, kept in private homes, from abuse and neglect (especially in rural areas). The Minimize Harm Maxim, consistent with morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life, does not permit any living being to be kept as a “pet” or to be bought, sold, or “owned.” The Minimize Harm Maxim requires that we tend extant “pets” by keeping them contained (so that they do not prey on other anymals), that we provide a balanced vegan diet (supplemented as needed), and that we sterilize each and every nonhuman companion animal. Under the Minimize Harm Maxim nonhuman companion animals, though beloved to the hearts of many, ought to be phased out through sterilization for the above-mentioned reasons. Inasmuch as we cannot keep other human beings as “pets,” inasmuch as we cannot buy, sell, own, or breed other human beings, we may not do so with other living entities. This raises the perplexing problem of how people will understand or feel any affinity with anymals if we become completely divorced from the rest of the animal kingdom. Those who know anymals often know them through a beloved cat or a loyal dog. As always, we must look to morality between humans. Though we are isolated from different peoples and cultures, we do not “keep a few of them

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around” so that we can come to know and understand “them.” The Minimize Harm Maxim is an extension of contemporary Western ethics among human beings, and therefore does not permit the keeping of companion anymals. Perhaps, as with peoples from other lands, we can come to see other species not as “them,” but as part of “us,” animals, earthlings. B. Hypothetical Scenarios 1. Organs versus Organisms/Species versus Individuals How might we apply the Minimize Harm Maxim to systems within systems? Does your spleen have an equal claim to persist in relation to your entirety? Does a species count for more than an individual? Minimize Harm Maxim, an extension of ethics protecting and preserving innocent human life, requires first and foremost that we treat other living entities as we treat innocent human beings, that we treat other living entities that have not been shown to be different in morally relevant ways in a similar fashion to how we treat anencephalic infants and brain-dead patients. If given a choice between Baby Theresa and her left lung, which do we protect? If offered a choice between Matthew Donnelly and his nose, which do we preserve? In the case of Baby Theresa, to avoid harm was to avoid frustrating or thwarting all that she had, which was a biological urge to persist, consistent with what many scholars have called conatus— the interest that each living entity has in biological persistence. What ought we to do if forced to choose between saving a lung, and saving the body in which the lung lives? Matthew Donnelly’s body had cancer. His cancerous body parts were expendable for the sake of preserving his entirety. You will perhaps remember the above quote: “As the disease progressed he lost his eyes, part of his jaw, his upper lip, his nose, and one of his hands. Two fingers of his other hand also had to be removed” (Rachels, “Euthanasia” 30). With or without his ongoing interest in survival, his body parts were secondary to his continued existence as a unity, even though he was terminally ill. Human beings are always prioritized over specific organs. To spare a spleen, or a lung, at the expense of an entire body—liver, spleen, heart, kidney, and so on—is counterproductive. The spleen is dependent on a specific body, and the body equally dependent on the

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spleen; each is mutually and more or less exclusively dependent on the other. In some cases the body might persist without the organ, as many people function without spleens or functioning kidneys, for example, but organs are generally critical to an individual. They are part of what makes the living unity of an individual. “The value of the unity of a physical organism lies in the fact that its components function interdependently and in a manner subordinate to the whole . . . the beauty of the whole derives from the interrelation of the parts” (Vilkka 72). To destroy the spleen is to harm the dependent body, and all other organs. Therefore, to save the spleen at the expense of other organs in the same body fails to minimize harm; similarly, one ought not to protect a cell within a spleen at the expense of the spleen. To destroy a living individual unity for the sake of one part does not minimize harm. Consistent with contemporary morality regarding the preservation and protection of human life, organs and body parts are not prioritized over innocent human life. Protectionists tend to favor individuals over species while environmentalists generally favor species over individuals. Unlike most organs, such as a heart and skin, individual animals are generally not integral to any one ecological system. Nor is a specific ecosystem necessarily mandatory for the survival of any one entity. Animals might travel over several mountain ranges or across oceans (as in the case of adventuresome stowaways such as beetles, mice, and human beings). Individuals and ecosystems are more flexible in their association than are body parts and bodies. No particular individual necessarily need perish along with a given ecosystem, and no ecosystem is significantly affected by the loss of any one individual. Therefore, individuals and ecosystems are not analogous to body parts and bodies. Where human life is concerned, morality and law prioritize the protection and preservation of human beings as individuals over communities or ecosystems. Human beings are maintained even at tremendous cost to the larger community, even at risk of damaging the gene pool by maintaining humans who would not survive without extensive care. Individual humans are maintained without regard to whether saving any one individual is, overall, the best thing for the entire community. Preserving Baby Theresa was definitely not best for those infants that died because they did not receive her heart or kidney, for those infants that will never see because they did not

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receive Baby Theresa’s eyes. The preservation of one individual life was more important than any more general good that might have been gained by taking that individual’s organs and diverting resources from her care to care for other infants that needed her body parts. Similarly, people are valued beyond ecosystems or even the planet. We humans have devastated vast tracts of land, entire ecosystems, and to some extent, concerning the ozone layer, fresh air, and clean water, we have upset the general functioning of the planet. Even though we behave like the cancer in Matthew Donnelly’s body, we are preserved—every last one of us is legally protected, morally considered invaluable, generally assumed to have a right to life. Every human life is protected first and foremost rather than weighing what might be best for the larger community, the global community (including anymals and plants), the environment in which we live, or the earth as a whole. Consistent with ethics regarding the protection and preservation of human life, we ought not to sacrifice organisms for the sake of organs, nor living entities for the sake of ecosystems. Consistent with human ethical theory and practice, the Minimize Harm Maxim prioritizes individual life over both organs and ecosystems. 2. Adrift on a Lifeboat Marginal cases such as those of anencephalic infants help us explore the outer limits of morality and law regarding the protection and preservation of innocent human life. We have determined that medical practice, ethics, and law regarding human life set a precedent for protecting and preserving any and all innocent human life if that life can be preserved. The six cases presented in chapter 7 indicate that a lack of consciousness, talent, intelligence, stated desire to live, viability, and sentience are irrelevant to preserving innocent human life. Additionally, Western morality holds that it is morally repugnant for one human being, or a group of human beings, to put a value on the quality of another human being’s life, or to decide when that life is not worth living. Acting on any assessment, if the assessment is against maintaining life, is illegal. This leads us to conclude that, in the contemporary Western world, the death of any innocent human being is to be avoided when possible. Let us return to the five wayfarers we met in the introduction (who are very eager for us to reach a determination regarding their

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fate): a naked mole rat, a spectacled elephant shrew, a hyrax, a needle-clawed bush baby, and a human being. (It might be helpful to review the section on lifeboat scenarios, in the introduction, before reading this section.) The boat can only stay afloat with four of these charming entities on board. Can the Minimize Harm Maxim, rooted in morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life, help us determine who will die so that others might live? The Minimize Harm Maxim acknowledges that species is not a morally relevant distinction any more than race or sex. Because all human lives are equally morally considerable, all life is equally morally considerable, whether a naked mole rat, a spectacled elephant shrew, a hyrax, a needle-clawed bush baby, or a human being. According to the Minimize Harm Maxim, which is an extension of morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life, and which is rooted in the philosophic principles of consistency and impartiality, there is no particular entity that can be cast overboard—not one is expendable. We search in vain for morally relevant criteria by which to decide which of the five entities will walk the plank. As human beings, so with all passengers aboard the life raft—not one is expendable, not one will be allowed to perish if it might persist. In Western ethics, where life is concerned, numbers count. We see this in Regan’s assessment of saving more lives, at the expense of fewer, if such a choice must be made. If one must choose between allowing many to die, and allowing a few to die, the morally preferable option is to permit just a few to die. Given that numbers “count” (so to speak), in the sense that more lives are always to be saved rather than less, one of the five must go overboard so that all is not lost. Unfortunately, this does nothing to help us decide who to cast aside, but it does provide insight as to who will not be thrown overboard. Inasmuch as it is morally preferable to save two people at the expense of one, a pregnant individual will never be first overboard. If we are lucky enough to have four pregnant sailors and one who is not pregnant, we will know which passenger ought to take her or his chance in the wide-open seas. If every passenger is pregnant except the hyrax, then the hyrax goes overboard. (And if the naked mole rat is expecting six new naked mole rats, then she will be last overboard. With other species on board, if they are all pregnant, it might be possible to throw over passengers based on which species carries the fewest offspring in the womb at one time—

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most likely the human being.) But unless the lifeboat happened to be loaded with passengers from a nearby maternity ward, a handful of pregnant passengers would be highly unlikely. A global perspective casts a shadow on saving as many endangered lives as possible. From the standpoint of the universe, a pregnant human being, especially in the West, will add considerable harm to the world through consumption of resources. If we are interested only in reducing overall harm, a pregnant woman ought to be thrown overboard first, precisely as contemporary ethics do with other living beings that are not human. We make haste to destroy anything that poses a threat to our way of life or our immediate environment. We have removed wolves and bears from most of Europe and the United States. We wage war on dandelions and buttercups. We have poisoned the air and water supplies trying to remove certain insects from crops, sometimes nearly wiping out other species in the process, such as the bald eagle. But this human tendency is irrelevant with regard to the Minimize Harm Maxim. The Minimize Harm Maxim is rooted in Western morality with regard to preserving and protecting innocent human life. We do not treat human life, no matter how pesky or dangerous, no matter how overpopulated or useless, as expendable. Inasmuch as people are willing to accept that life in the womb is human, such a developing human life is protected. Though human beings might well be the scourge of the earth, their lives are protected and preserved along with the other various lives on the life raft. The protection of the pregnant, saving as many lives as possible, does not necessarily tell us who to cast over the side of the raft. Day-to-day hospital care, the care offered anencephalic infants and brain-dead patients, provides no basis by which to determine which lifeboat passenger might be thrown overboard. Perhaps emergency medicine will be more helpful to us in deciding how to handle our many passengers on a sinking vessel. Western morality permits medical personnel to choose between one life and another when it is not possible to save everyone. Again, this demonstrates that quantity of life matters (but not necessarily quality). In emergency medicine, the goal is to save as many wounded human beings as possible. If life-and-death decisions must be made, emergency medicine leans toward saving the greater number of individuals. If a paramedic arrives on the scene of the lifeboat to find that everyone on board has some kind of injury and that all on

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board cannot be saved, emergency medical personnel are trained to decide which individuals to allow to die. With regard to saving human life, if we accept that numbers count, one of the passengers must go overboard. To lose one to save four is distinctly better than losing all five. To save as many as possible, we must decide who will walk the plank. But who will it be? The needle-clawed bush baby? The human being? The process by which paramedics determine who will receive care when there are not enough caregivers to go around is called “triage.” “The process of triage is used to sort patients into categories of priority for care and transport, based on the severity of injuries” and chance of survival (Grant 340). When they arrive on the scene, emergency medical personnel make life-and-death decisions based on the condition of the patients. The French word “triage” means “to sort.” Patients can be divided in various ways. For instance, they can be divided into three categories: those likely to perish without immediate care (cardiac arrest, severe bleeding, respiratory arrest), those that have serious injuries but are unlikely to perish while others are helped (burns, moderate bleeding, fractured bones), those that have minor injuries or who are so seriously injured that survival is unlikely (minor fractures, minor bleeding, the mortally wounded or clearly deceased) (Grant 340–41). Captain Cindy Coker, a paramedic of twenty years, explained triage. The system used in the fire department where she works is called START, “Simple Triage and Rapid Transport.” START, developed by Hoag Memorial Hospital Presbyterian and Newport Beach Fire Department, is utilitarian in nature, designed to “do the most good for the most people” (Coker). START is a method by which EMS personnel in the field can determine which patients are low priority and will receive delayed treatment, which patients have no priority and will receive no treatment, and which patients receive immediate treatment (Snohomish D–4). Coker explained to me how START would work if she arrived on the scene of an MCI (Mass Casualty Incident), which is any scene that overtaxes the current capabilities of available resources. She used the example of a train accident with wounded people strewn across the ground when medics arrive. START has four categories, each associated with a color: green, yellow, red, and black. (“Black” is, as ever in white society, a label no one would want!)

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Green patients are those that are ambulatory, who can make their way to a station, when asked to do so, where they can be helped. Those that remain on the ground must be visited individually. Yellow patients have less serious injuries, such as fractures or cuts that do not appear to be life threatening. Red patients are those able to live but in need of serious attention, such as those who have lost much blood or have serious fractures or altered mental states. The black category is for patients that are unlikely to survive even if given basic life support. For instance, if a patient is not breathing, medics open the airway. If the patient does not begin to breathe, that patient falls into the black category and is passed over for other, more viable patients. Other patients in the black category are those with severe bleeding that cannot be controlled. Medics like Coker use START to decide who among the wounded will receive lifegiving efforts when there are not enough personnel to provide such care to all needy patients. Triage prioritizes the most serious medical cases, giving aid to those with the greatest need who are likely to survive. What this means is that given three critically wounded patients, two paramedics on site, and one patient who is unlikely to survive, it is not only permissible but expected that medics will not treat the patient who is unlikely to survive, even if they might survive given proper, intensive EMS care. If we accept that our ongoing lifeboat scenario poses a similar emergency situation, can the medical practice of triage help us decide what to do with our unusual passengers? The Minimize Harm Maxim is an extension of morality regarding the protection and preservation of human life, and we are therefore right to employ “triage” to decide who sinks and who floats. The task, then, is to determine which individual is the least likely to survive. Let us assume that the hyrax is seriously injured and may not survive on the lifeboat, even if allowed to stay. Is it permissible to slip the hyrax into the sea? If we lean on standard and accepted emergency medical practice, the answer would appear to be “yes.” But the use of triage, and the passing of the hyrax, poses an interesting conundrum. Can we apply triage to our lifeboat scenario? What if the spectacled elephant shrew is anencephalic; what if her brain is not connected, she is unlikely to live any length of time, and she will have no sensations, no thoughts—no “life” as other spectacled elephant shrews know life to be. Or what if the needle-

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clawed bush baby was wounded by a crowd of thronging people, and her brain has turned to liquid because her lungs were crushed and her brain deprived of oxygen? What if one of the passengers is not viable due to injury or as a fact of birth? One might argue that any passenger who is not viable, or is unlikely to survive on the life raft, should be cast into the sea based on the contemporary, accepted practice of triage. Cindy Coker assured me that, as a paramedic, she would not cast anyone into the sea. Medics can pass over seriously wounded individuals, allowing them to perish if they are unable to help all who are in need, but medics cannot kill potential patients. This is not only true of medics, but for all of us. We may speed past dying people on our way to the store without legal obligation to stop and render assistance, but we may not run over even the toe of one such person. We are not required to save those in need, but we are expected—required—not to cause any harm to other human beings. We can let them die, but we cannot throw them overboard. START was developed “to save the most people possible, based on medical criteria” (Coker). And Coker pointed out that, in the field, she cannot determine why a patient is unresponsive. The patient could be anencephalic or brain dead or simply “unconscious.” In the field, in an emergency situation, each looks very much like the other, and her duty is to save as many individuals as possible. Mental states are irrelevant. There are only four criteria for triage assessment: ambulation, respiration, perfusion, and mental state. First she asks, can the patient walk and follow simple directions? If so, the patient is green and can be passed over to help those in more need. Second, can she or he breathe? If not the patient is labeled black and passed over for those more viable. If yes, medics assess whether respiration is normal or abnormal. Third, does the patient have a radial pulse, or do the capillaries refill quickly after pressure is applied? If so, the patient is yellow, if not red. If the patient is losing blood and the bleeding cannot be controlled, the patient falls into the black category. If it can be controlled, the patient remains in the red category. Finally, the medic assesses whether the patient seems confused or in an abnormal mental state. If so, the individual is considered red—in either case such a person receives care. All decisions are based solely on medical criteria. Mental states

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are at no time a determining factor for a patient being placed into the black category. Mental state can only determine whether a patient is red or yellow. If the patient can biologically persist, breathe, and circulate blood, she or he will receive medic attention. Coker was very clear that mental state is as irrelevant as skin color in her assessments of those in need. If mental state were an acceptable criterion, Coker noted, retarded human beings would be the last to be helped and would more frequently be left at MCI sites. But why should those who are not as intelligent have less opportunity for continued existence? Why should they be the last ones to be helped? Mental ability is not morally relevant in the face of suffering and death. If it were, we could smugly save the human being on the bobbing life raft, but this is not the case. The only relevant question for medics is a medical question: “Who has the best chance of survival? Who can I save?” (Coker) Furthermore, at no time does the medic assess which patient to kill. Coker was just as clear that she had no tools, as a medic, by which to make any decisions regarding a lifeboat with five viable individuals. Even if there was one passenger who was not viable, she certainly could not slip that passenger overboard. Medics are trained to save lives, not to kill surplus human beings, for which we might (or might not) be grateful, given our current population problems. Is it legal in Western countries to force someone, without her consent, to die? In the U.S. case of Nancy Cruzan, the answer was no. In the case of Baby Theresa, the answer was also no. In the case of Tracy Latimer, of Canada, the answer was no. Only in England, in the case of Anthony Bland, was the patient allowed to die by the removal of life-giving technology. No one was permitted to kill him, but he was allowed to die. Are these cases so very different from the emergency scenario posed by an overcrowded lifeboat? No, they clearly indicate that contemporary law and medical practice do not permit the killing of any passengers for the sake of others who might thereby gain. Peter Singer poses a “lifeboat” scenario initially created by Peter Unger, where a man named Bob must choose between saving the life of a child and saving his prize car, a Bugatti in which he has invested all of his retirement money. His car is stalled on one track; a child is caught on the neighboring track. The train will run over one or the other; the man has the power to choose which will be

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crushed under the wheels of the train—he has in his hand a lever that controls which track the train will take. Singer compares Bob’s situation to that which each of us faces every day—we decide whether to protect our investments, our property, our wealth, or to invest in life: give to the poor, give to satiate world hunger, give to organizations that preserve habitat or work to reduce human population. He concludes: When Bob first grasped the dilemma that faced him as he stood by that railway switch, he must have thought how extraordinarily unlucky he was to be placed in a situation in which he must choose between the life of an innocent child and the sacrifice of most of his savings. But he was not unlucky at all. We are all in that situation. (Writings 124)

In a world of too few resources and too many people, our daily decisions have far-reaching effects, implications that are larger than life. Just as Bob must decide between the child and his car, we must decide whether to invest in the poor, the environment, and those who are starving, or in ourselves. As a society we must decide between developing weaponry and investing in public transport, between providing opportunities for children from poor neighborhoods or maintaining anencephalic infants. We must choose between building another row of houses or preserving habitat for the hyrax. The lifeboat scenario, with its assortment of remarkable species, though far-fetched in particulars, is close to home in reality. Do not our earth’s limited resources, and our expanding numbers, place us perpetually in “emergency” conditions in which either the human being or the hyrax has somewhere to live—but not both? Do we not decide, every day, whether the needle-clawed bush baby will continue to have habitat in which it can find adequate food, clean water, and appropriate shelter—or if human beings will instead live where the bush babies once lived? Does not the earth’s limited capacity to support life make every choice critical, in a sense similar to triage in emergency medicine? Yet we maintain “Baby K, an infant born with no brain, who survived for two years, and . . . Joey Fiori, a young man injured in a motorcycle accident, who was in a persistent vegetative state for almost two decades,” and whose mother wished for him to be allowed to die, while others, independent of machines and hospitals, die undernourished, homeless, and in desperate need of medical care (Singer, Writings 211). Is our legal system

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out of touch with reality? Do hospital personnel live in a fantasy world, a world of denial, where everyone can live, and therefore every life is provided with the opportunity to do so? Perhaps Baby Theresa lived in this imaginary world, but the hyrax and the naked mole rat do not. Neither do thousands of people who die every day for want of medical care, for want of basics such as vaccinations, disinfectants, adequate food, and sanitation. Perhaps the Minimize Harm Maxim, an extension of morality with regard to protecting innocent human life, can allow us to see anew the choices that we make every day, and the cost of those choices with regard to lives we do not see, do not count, and fail to figure into the equation of life and death on a limited planet. If we are going to slip the anencephalic hyrax or the brain-dead spectacled elephant shrew into the water, we must also acknowledge that not all human patients can be saved on our limited little Planet Lifeboat. But contemporary morality regarding the preservation and protection of human life tends in the opposite direction. Triage is controversial. Some shun this practice because medical personnel decide who will not be saved from among those they come upon in an emergency scenario. “Many people find this philosophy to be objectionable” (Grant 341). Western morality and law hold that all innocent human life is to be protected and preserved if possible. If a medic is on hand, is it not possible? The author of the book on emergency medicine, from which I took this information, commented that those who object to triage “fail to understand that there are limits” to what emergency medical personnel might accomplish (Grant 341). Perhaps those who object to triage, as well as those who insist on the maintenance of anencephalic infants and brain-dead patients, are either unwilling or unable to see that there are limits to what we can do to preserve life on a crowded globe where death is inevitable for all of us, and where not everyone who is born can be kept alive at any cost. It seems the only ones who have learned this lesson the hard way are other species, some of which are now extinct. Triage offers hope, but at the end of the day it is only emergency medicine that accepts the possibility that not all innocent human life can be saved. As evidenced by the above six examples, no one is permitted to decide when an innocent human life might be allowed to die, and certainly no one is permitted to end such a life willfully.

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For this reason, triage is not representative of contemporary Western morality regarding the protection and preservation of innocent human life. We must look elsewhere. Perhaps sentience will be helpful in determining who will live and who will die in our particular lifeboat scenario. To explore this possibility, we must alter our constituency: we will replace the naked mole rat with a daisy. Is the life of this newcomer equally precious? Must it be preserved and protected along with the life of the needleclawed bush baby and the naked mole rat? Sentience is a morally relevant criterion in Western law—causing serious unnecessary physical suffering to innocent human beings is illegal. One is not allowed to starve or beat up dependents, whether children, the elderly, or “pets.” But pain and suffering are not relevant with regard to the preservation and protection of human life. The case of Matthew Donnelly (the physicist with cancer) provides an apt example. He suffered terribly, to the point where he did not wish to live any longer, yet he was kept alive against his wishes. In contrast, Baby Theresa could not feel anything. She suffered not one twinge, not one moment of anxiety, not one second of hunger. She was not capable of suffering. Yet medical professionals maintained Baby Theresa even at the expense of other children who might have lived if they had the organs of this failing, anencephalic infant, organs that her parents wished to donate so that other families might preserve their beloved children. Many individuals are kept alive in Western hospitals who can feel nothing, anencephalic infants and innumerable brain-dead patients, while each day, for want of food and medicine, human beings who can feel and think and function, suffer and die. In fact Western nations do not choose to allocate resources in order to protect against suffering. Nor do we make choices in order to preserve the lives of those who can suffer in favor of those who cannot feel anything. The Minimize Harm Maxim is an extension of morality regarding the preservation and protection of innocent human life. Human life is preserved even if such medical efforts increase suffering. Life is sustained even if that life suffers terribly in the process, even if preserving that life causes others to suffer and die as a result. As it turns out, the daisy will stay on board just as surely as any other passenger. Western medical practice, rooted in Western morality that protects and preserves the life of every innocent human being, does not

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allow any human being to die so that others might live. While many innocent human beings die of simple neglect—malnutrition, infection, diseases for which there are cures—because funds and efforts are focused elsewhere, medical practice does not permit the loss of any innocent human life that might be preserved. Our responsibility for those that die of want, of neglect, is no less because they do not lie in a hospital bed, but exploring such cases is beyond the scope of this work. Western law protects innocent human life. The legal system and medical practice reflect a Western morality that holds human life to be precious to a degree that seems beyond calculation. The Minimize Harm Maxim, rooted in morality with regard to protecting and preserving human life, also provides no means by which to make distinctions between one life and another. As anencephalic infants aptly demonstrate, no innocent human life is allowed to die or be killed— even for the sake of other innocent human lives—if they might go on living. While there are many cases in which individual doctors permit patients to die, or even help them to do so, such cases remain off the books. Law requires that each innocent human life be allowed to persist for as long as possible. For the sake of consistency and impartiality, in light of casuistry, the life of each living entity on our unique lifeboat is as precious as every other. The harm of exterminating any one of these five entities is equal inasmuch as the life of Baby Theresa is no more or less morally considerable than the life of any other patient in the hospital where she lived and died. The Minimize Harm Maxim, an extension of contemporary Western morality with regard to the preservation and protection of human life, does not discriminate between the lives of a naked mole rat, a spectacled elephant shrew, a hyrax, and a needle-clawed bush baby . . . even that of a daisy. Contemporary Western ethics provide no means by which to decide who will live and who will die on our bobbing lifeboat. Conclusion Western morality, as evidenced by medical practice and law, protects every innocent human life. In the absence of any morally relevant distinction between all human beings and all other living entities, consistency and impartiality require the application of this same stringent morality to all life forms.

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The Minimize Harm Maxim is a utopian moral theory, rooted in consistency, extending morality between human beings to all other living beings that have not been shown to be different in morally relevant ways. Idealistic theories often seem extreme and unlikely, but the Minimize Harm Maxim stands as a model of what we ought to do if we are to be consistent and impartial. If the Minimize Harm Maxim seems unreasonable, then our only recourse, if we are to maintain consistency, is to reconsider our current moral ideals with regard to protecting and preserving innocent human life.

CHAPTER TEN

REVIEW AND FUTURE DIRECTIONS

We have explored the work of four prominent scholars. Although a critical analysis is offered for the best-known and most respected protectionist theories available, this work attests to and affirms the value of the contribution that each of these scholars has made to the ongoing process of seeking and establishing a more consistent, compassionate morality. We have also explored an idealistic protectionist theory based on consistency and impartiality, the Minimize Harm Maxim. In this final chapter, we look back to the previous chapters, and forward to what might lie ahead in the field of anymals and ethics. What fundamental concepts have been further explored and developed? What possible directions might be beneficial for future work in protectionist ethics? A. Overview 1. A Conspicuous Problem Protectionism is an “idea that is easy to ridicule but hard to refute” (Ryder, Animal 332).

In the West, both civil law and accepted morality protect human conatus, the urge “to preserve our existence as persons” (P. Taylor “Inherent” 25). Predominant Western morality holds the strong conviction that there is no legitimate reason to deny moral standing to any human being; ideally, each human being is maintained even at tremendous expense to society. But we do not extend this protection to anymals, and there is a conspicuous absence of any morally legitimate reason for treating human life differently from how we treat all other lifeforms. Moral philosophers have as yet been unable to establish any satisfactory morally relevant difference between anymals and human beings—one that would justify denying basic protection to other species while maintaining such stringent protection for human life. Yet Western ethics, as revealed in the actions of most people, persist with this flagrant inconsistency. The lives of anymals remain

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almost completely unprotected. “Current legal consensus seems to be that nearly any human interest can in principle qualify as an acceptable justification for animal use . . . Whether there is a moral consensus in society to this effect is more doubtful” (Orlans 317). As a result, in the United States, “given the quantity of non-human animals suffering, the extent to which they are suffering, and the reason they are intentionally made to suffer . . . animal liberation is the moral imperative of our time. Our . . . focus should be on ending the suffering as efficiently and quickly as possible” (Ball 4). We are living in a time of great moral reckoning, a time of moral reflection leading to eye-opening moral imperatives previously overlooked. We are, slowly, bit by bit, coming to see that our treatment of anymals in relation to our treatment of human animals constitutes an unjustified, flagrant inconsistency. Some have come to see that those who cling to the maximum moral significance of human beings while denying such significance to anymals have no philosophical leg to stand on. We can either accept anymals into the fold or deny full moral significance to certain human beings. Tom Regan writes: [T]he moral beliefs we accept cannot all be true if they include two or more inconsistent beliefs. This much, too, seems clear: our commitment to search for and, when we find them, to address such inconsistencies offers a fair indication of the seriousness with which we respond to the challenge to develop an informed, thoughtful moral outlook. (Defending 101)

Western morality is currently inconsistent; we are inconsistent in our treatment of life and in our expressed “respect for life.” Peter Singer notes: People often say that life is sacred. They almost never mean what they say. They do not mean, as their words seem to imply, that life itself is sacred. If they did, killing a pig or pulling up a cabbage would be as abhorrent to them as the murder of a human being. When people say that life is sacred, it is human life they have in mind. But why should human life have special value? (Writings 125)

Indeed, what is so important about us in a universe of such beauty and diversity? Why do we persist with—and even defend—this flagrantly immoral status quo? The cases of Baby Theresa, Tracy Latimer, Matthew Donnelly, and Samuel Linares (let alone jellyfish babies) make a startling contrast with the indifference we show toward the lives of stray pets, anymals exploited for science and the farming

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industry, or any variety of anymals left alongside the roadway. “What justifies the difference?” (Singer, Writings 126). In the first century, the Greek philosopher Plutarch wrote, “For what sort of dinner is not costly for which a living creature loses its life? Do we hold a life cheap?” (“On” 997). Sound ethics do not entail flagrant inconsistencies. For those with a critical eye, “it is hard to see a long and beneficial future for an ethic as paradoxical, incoherent, and dependent on pretense as our conventional ethic of life and death has become” (Singer, Writings 210). 2. A Cooperative Enterprise It is the task of moral philosophers to either rectify moral inconsistencies or justify them; the works of Regan, Singer, Linzey, and Taylor are central contributions to this ongoing effort. Only by exploring diverse options might we find possible solutions to our ongoing moral dilemma—our flagrant inconsistency. Each theory offers insights that “tend to lead us in the right direction” (L. Johnson 197). Each moral theory offers valuable insights and worthy possibilities. As an environmental activist colleague noted, “We must listen to many voices, especially to those issuing from lived realities—even if what is said challenges us”—indeed, especially if what is said challenges us (Gloege, Unpublished communication). Protectionist philosophy benefits from a diversity of theories, and so do the diverse populations to which these theories speak. For instance, Linzey’s theory will be irrelevant to an atheist, but is likely to be of considerable interest, and compelling, for a concerned Christian. In contrast, theories rooted in scientific understandings of the natural world and animals, such as the works of Singer and Regan, are less apt to reach a conservative Christian (Finsen 193). Meanwhile, if an individual feels strongly about human rights, she or he will probably find moral concordance in Regan’s work. Each theory might help someone to recognize, acknowledge, and rectify this current terrible inconsistency in our morality. For this reason, each theory is of value—the diversity itself is of value—and we ought to strive for “more cooperative work, and less competitive philosophizing” (Regan, Animal 61). This variety of theories in the protectionist movement also reveals the seriousness with which these ideas are now being taken, and the strength of the work being published by scholars in this growing

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field. Each of the philosophers explored in this text objects to the moral discrepancy between our overarching respect for human life and our general disregard for all other life-forms. “When taken together, these arguments pose a fundamental challenge to traditional morality and its assumption of the superiority of humans and the primacy of human interests” (Finsen 233). Protectionism can never again be dismissed as a side issue; change is inevitable, however slowly it might come to pass. 3. The Minimize Harm Maxim The Minimize Harm Maxim is part of this ongoing philosophical exploration and is likely to resonate with those who are interested in strict philosophical consistency, and perhaps with those who are invested in the sanctity of life. Consider a person who does not accept the notion of human rights, does not care about minimizing suffering, and who is not moved by religious teachings; what is the most fundamental common ground with regard to life that one might reach with such an individual? The answer seems to be conatus: such a person is alive and strives to persist biologically. Most people will readily acknowledge that they personally endeavor to survive, and that they wish to protect their personal endeavor to survive. Common sense tells us that all other life-forms share this biological urge to persist, and a common ground is reached not just for all people, but for all life. With this basic recognition it is easy to establish that all living beings ought to be protected from harm if human beings are protected on the grounds that they wish to persist. In the absence of any morally relevant distinction between all human beings and all anymals, the Minimize Harm Maxim asserts that ethics ought to protect all life-forms that share this basic urge to persist if this urge is to be protected among human beings. For those who assert that only they (or only human beings) have an interest in persisting biologically, empirical evidence stands against them, and the burden of proof is theirs. Philosophic consistency indicates that those who wish to exploit anymals must justify such actions; in contrast, those who fight for protectionism are consistent with accepted morality regarding the protection and preservation of life (in the absence of a morally relevant distinction between all human beings and all anymals) and need not justify their stance.

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Summary of Overview • Predominant Western moral standards and practices are inconsistent and partial with regard to the moral standing of human beings as opposed to the moral standing of all other life-forms. • A diversity of protectionist theories is beneficial to the ongoing search for a more consistent ethic with regard to anymals. • The Minimize Harm Maxim, developed from a consistent application of extreme respect for human life in Western ethics, as exemplified by Western laws and Western medical practice, is part of this ongoing effort in protectionist moral philosophy, and is based on the most fundamental common ground with regard to life. B. Philosophical Standards and the Minimize Harm Maxim 1. Ethical Theories What is right will not always be apparent, and the temptation will always exist to rationalize as necessary what we desire or find convenient. (A. Taylor, Animal 262)

Human actions affect the land and every living being. Maintaining moral standards is linked to a smooth-running, satisfied society (Horsburgh, Non-Violence 47). Human ethics that guide behavior are therefore extremely important to each of us and to the larger world. The practical application of philosophy, determining what one ought to do in a given situation, is the task of applied philosophy. One philosophical tool for this enterprise is casuistry, examining situations on a case-by-case basis and consistently applying ethical standards in diverse situations that are similar in morally relevant ways. Ethics entail many ideals that are not only difficult, but perhaps impossible to realize. Even a saint must at times be lustful, disingenuous, or gluttonous; it does not seem feasible to be completely honest at all times. Yet self-control and honesty remain ethical ideals to which most of us readily attest. Utopian visions present ideals that offer moral guidance in real-life situations. The role of moral philosophy is to establish “claims on our consideration or respect which we acknowledge as in some sense ideally determinative” (Goodpaster, “On Being” 313). Making concessions for human shortcomings is not a legitimate approach to moral philosophy. Stringent expectations, and the need

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for diligence and sacrifice, should not sway us from pursuing moral ideals. Ethics distinguish ideal ways and preferable actions from both undesirable behavior and common practice. Morality is about what one ought to do. While human actions may fall short of moral ideals, the task of moral philosophy is to stand strong against conventional practices and moral assertions that fall short of the mark. An ethic limited to what an individual can reasonably be expected to achieve is a degradation of moral theory. Moral philosophers are not called upon to justify the way individuals prefer to live, to appease the masses, or to gratify powerful individuals benefiting from the status quo. Down through history the masses and the elite have often claimed freedoms for themselves, in particular freeing themselves from morality at the expense of others. But freedom from morality does not equate to actual freedom. [S]uppose that we had quite different rules, and that more people were free to hit others in the nose, and correspondingly fewer were free to enjoy the full beauty and utility of their own unbloodied proboscises. Would this new arrangement have a greater or smaller “amount” of freedom in it, on balance . . .? . . . [T]here would be not “less” freedom but freedom of a morally inferior kind. (Feinberg, Social 24)

For centuries humans have been freely swinging their fists, while other species have suffered bruised and broken lives due to a shortcoming that persists in Western morality as practiced by most citizens. A “major role of morality . . . should be to enjoin the protection of the vulnerable from the powerful” (Miller 333); establishing moral codes that respect and protect the comparatively weak from the strong is one of the definitive duties of moral philosophy. The weak and silent have interests; morality requires the powerful to respect the less powerful. Who would condone a moral theory allowing the strongest and most powerful their preferences at the expense of the weak, the silent, or the poor? Yet, where other species are concerned, commonly accepted morality permits exactly this. Common Western ethics and practice fail to protect weak and vulnerable anymals from powerful, exploitative human beings. This breach of moral responsibility stands in stark contrast with our moral standards regarding the protection and preservation of human lives and is unjust and immoral because we have been unable to put forward a broadly accepted morally relevant distinction between humans and other life-forms. Down through history and up to the present moment prominent moral practices have been biased, favoring cer-

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tain interests. Favored interests “tend to be characteristically human,” and the “grounds for discrimination are inadequate” (L. Johnson 198). We have failed to establish an ethic that consistently protects the myriad vulnerable living beings from greedy, powerful, prosperous, exploitative human beings. It is the task of moral philosophers to offer a more viable (consistent) alternative. 2. Examining the Minimize Harm Maxim The Minimize Harm Maxim, an idealistic moral theory based on consistency and impartiality, strives to actualize widely accepted contemporary moral ideals. The Minimize Harm Maxim does not make concessions for privileged or powerful minorities (human beings as opposed to all other living entities). It protects all who are powerless. The Minimize Harm Maxim offers an ideal, consistent with norms of moral philosophy. For most of us in our daily lives, the ease or difficulty of enacting a moral theory does not add to or detract from the strength or desirability of that moral theory. (Even though we all lie sometimes, we generally agree that lying is not morally preferable. Even though we agree that gluttony is no virtue, most of us eat more than we ought to at least on occasion.) In the conspicuous absence of any morally relevant distinction between all people who are morally considerable and other living beings, the Minimize Harm Maxim indicates how we can maintain consistency and persist with our current ethical standard with regard to human life. The Minimize Harm Maxim carries current ethical standards with regard to human life to their logical conclusion—not to suggest what one might prefer to do, nor what it is “reasonable” to expect, but in order to indicate what one ought to do. 3. Comparison The Minimize Harm Maxim entails a number of important philosophical strengths in comparison with other protectionist theories. The Minimize Harm Maxim • maintains consistency and impartiality; • avoids the dubious metaphysical concept of moral rights; • avoids the epistemological difficulties of assessing consciousness across species;

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• avoids the epistemological difficulties of analyzing sentience or subject-of-a-life status across species; and • does not depend on the epistemologically perplexing task of assessing and comparing pleasure, pain, harm suffered, or opportunities for satisfaction. Of course there are problems entailed in the Minimize Harm Maxim. The Minimize Harm Maxim is based on well-established ethics with regard to human life. In truth, Western morality is not consistent on this point. War, capital punishment, and abortion reveal ambiguity regarding the preservation and protection of human life. Killing some individuals is permissible. Such killings indicate that Western ethics, at least in practice, do not protect all human life in every situation. However, aside from these comparatively small numbers of human beings, Western laws and morality hold human life in the highest regard, as evidenced by common medical practices such as the care given doomed anencephalic infants. Cases presented previously, such as those of Baby Theresa, Tracy Latimer, and Samuel Linares, provide ample evidence of the strong medical practices, based on Western morality and law, regarding the protection and preservation of human life. Others might object that the Minimize Harm Maxim demands tremendous moral diligence and self-sacrifice. But the effort required to fulfill a moral obligation is not the concern of moral ideals. What is convenient, what one might prefer, or the difficulty entailed in living an ethical life is not relevant. Ethical theories such as the Minimize Harm Maxim indicate what one ought to do (in this case for the sake of consistency, if one is to persist with dominant current ethical standards regarding human life, in the absence of any morally relevant distinctions between all human life and all other life-forms). Our generally accepted current morality in the West with regard to human life is extremely costly, and requires tremendous collective sacrifice. Nonetheless, there is a consensus, rooted to a large extent in our Christian past, that to protect and defend human life is morally ideal, and well worth the effort. Generally speaking, we would not choose to live in a world devoid of notions of “the sanctity of human life,” however spurious such a contention might be. Therefore, consistency requires us to extend this ethic to all other living entities that are similar in morally relevant ways. If life is

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precious, then all life is precious. With regard to the Minimize Harm Maxim, the entirety of life is morally considerable—all life is granted moral standing. C. Reexamining Predominant Western Ethics The Minimize Harm Maxim is based on the following: • Generally speaking, Western ethics place supreme value on human life, with only very few exceptions. • Philosophers have established no morally relevant distinction between all human beings and all other living entities. • Consistency and impartiality are cornerstones of both Western philosophy and applied philosophy. I have therefore argued as follows: • If one can find no morally relevant distinction between all people and all anymals, and • if one accepts the predominant morality in the West regarding human life, • then consistency and impartiality require an extension of the moral sphere to include all living entities. The Minimize Harm Maxim is but one solution to the above set of problems; there are at least three options for correcting this current inconsistency in the dominant ethic of the West (only the first of which has been explored in this book): • Extend our dominant Western ethic so that all living entities are morally considerable. • Establish morally relevant criteria that differentiate some or all human beings from some or all other nonhuman living entities. • Diminish the moral importance of human life. Through the viewpoints of prominent scholars, and by exploring the Minimize Harm Maxim, this book has focused on the first option. The second option has also been thoroughly explored in moral philosophy, but without satisfactory results. Scholars have found that a

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change in criteria for moral standing that excludes anymals and other life-forms from moral protection will result in the loss of moral standing for at least some human beings if philosophic consistency is maintained, usually the very young and the mentally limited. “R. G. Frey, for example, has argued that vivisection of some of these humans . . . would be justified, although he is far from gleeful about the prospect” (Pluhar xiii). Evidence suggests that if we wish to continue to exploit anymals, philosophical consistency will require sacrificing certain humans along the way. If it is morally permissible to sport kill, trap, breed, capture, tamper with biologically, experiment on, cage, eat, and vivisect anymals, then it must be equally morally permissible to do this to certain humans beings. Most of us are decidedly uncomfortable with this conclusion. More importantly, this possible outcome is plagued by the epistemological difficulties of assessing the various capacities of living entities across species. The third option, in contrast, remains comparatively unexplored. 1. Reconsidering the Value of Human Life So you are not like a washing machine or a car and are not defined by the material present at this moment. You are a complex system of activities that makes temporary use of various kinds of matter, but that matter is not you. You, and all other organisms, are continuous systems of material flux, of matter moving in, playing a role, and moving out. You are more like a candle flame or a whirlpool than like a washing machine. (G. Williams 118–19)

What is life? What is the value of human life? As noted in the introduction, suffering and death are not the primary focus of this book. We live, and we die. We suffer. While moral virtues support a life of compassion and caring rather than one of wanton killing or unmitigated maiming, virtues are not the primary focus of this work. This book is about consistency in moral practice with regard to our treatment of life. At what cost ought we to protect life? Some ancient and pervasive religious teachings, as well as modern science, indicate that we are more akin to the mayfly than to our conceptions of an immortal divine. If we were to incorporate a mayfly mentality into Western morality, an ethic where we accept our own death and the deaths of our own kind more willingly, it is likely that a more consistent ethic would emerge. An ethic that treads a more moderate path with

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regard to human life would not require that we be so extreme with regard to other species in order to maintain consistency. In hindsight, pondering the preceding material, is our treatment of human life extreme, radical, and inimical to common sense? While many conventional people consider protectionists and protectionism radical, is it not our conventional ethic with regard to human life that is extreme and radical? When faced with the astronomical expense and allocation of limited resources in cases such as those of Baby Theresa, do we ever wonder “whether such treatment of an infant human being is or is not the right thing to do” (Singer, Writings 126)? Our contemporary ethic concerning human life when applied to any other life-form, seems excessive, perhaps even ridiculous. Is it reasonable for morality, law, and medical practice to be so concerned about perpetuating a living organism simply because it is able to be perpetuated and because its biology strives to persist? Protectionist theories tend to extend our stringent Western ethic concerning human life outward to include at least some other living entities. Perhaps we ought to reexamine predominant Western ethics with regard to the value of human life in order to clarify where the limits of moral obligation might reasonably lie. In light of the ongoing, flagrant moral inconsistency concerning the protection and preservation of life, perhaps our quest for a more moderate and consistent morality will lead us to reevaluate both our ethic toward anymals and our ethic with regard to human life. In a recent interview Singer commented that for two thousand years humans have “enshrined the sanctity of human life, no matter how compromised” (Specter 46). Western medicine, rooted in Western morality and backed by Western law, maintains patients who have been brain dead for years and whose families wish they might be allowed to die, elderly patients who would prefer to wither away in peace but are required to live as long as their bodies are able to biologically persist, and terminally ill patients who have been maintained even though they suffer terribly and ask to be allowed the simple option of death. Dominant Western morality encourages the maintenance of human life even at great cost to the community and against the will of the individual. (As noted, exceptions include dangerous criminals, “enemy soldiers,” and unborn fetuses up to a certain level of development.)

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Philosophic consistency indicates that it might be necessary to consider removing some moral protection granted some human beings in some situations. If so, the details need to be worked out with extreme care. But if we are unwilling to modify moral protection for human life, in the absence of any morally relevant distinction between a lifeless, brain-dead human being and a protozoan, consistency requires that we extend moral standing to protozoa. We must not lose sight of the fact that it is because of our extreme current protection of human life that philosophic consistency leads us to the extreme ethics of the Minimize Harm Maxim. If we do not like the look of the Minimize Harm Maxim, one way to achieve moral consistency is to alter morality with regard to human life. 2. Continuing the Trend—Moving Ethics Outward Singer writes of our tendency to view “human beings as the center of the ethical universe”; he identifies this as part of “a set of ideas we have inherited from the period in which the intellectual world was dominated by a religious outlook” (Writings 211). Change is inevitable. The “moral inadequacy” of narrow principles that limit “respect for life to a tribe, race, or nation” has become obvious to the Western world; now we are seriously questioning whether or not the commonly accepted “boundary of our species marks a more defensible limit to the protected circle” (Singer, Writings 126). Leena Vilkka notes that the Enlightenment brought human equality, “the idea that we are born equal. The second Enlightenment should be the revolution for nature. It should extend the principle of equality to the non-human world” (72). And when we do bring all of life under the umbrella of moral protection, “the comfortable sense of right and wrong, which securely governs our everyday existence, is no longer tenable, and we can no longer eat, sleep, and work in the same untroubled way” (Rollin 4). As with the freeing of the slaves in the South, so must be the freeing of anymals across the Western world. As we fight for freedom for all people in all societies, so we must ultimately seek freedom for all beings in all nations. It is the task of moral theories to perpetually knock on established boundaries, to push morality to higher standards. Most Westerners have extended ethics outward from self to family to community—to the entirety of the human species (Norton, Why 173); we are now called upon to extend moral standing to other species. Expanding

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moral standing to include other life-forms is inevitable. Even if we exclude certain human beings, and even if we fail to protect human beings in certain situations, consistency will require us to extend the circle of moral standing to at least some other species. Whatever way one looks at ethics, morality is advanced by the inclusion of other species: Moral character, the sum of happiness in the world, and fairness are all “furthered when nonhuman animals are included in the moral sphere” (Pluhar 227). Only a lingering and unprincipled prejudice can now underlie the exclusion of animals from the kingdom of ends. Principled moral equality cannot stop with the human race. Thus, animal liberation presents itself not as a deviant blip in moral theory, but as a compelling outcome of a long Western moral tradition as it has become progressively refined through the demands of consistency, through redefinition of what in human experience we value and want morally protected, and through developing empirical knowledge regarding similarities and continuities between the human and other species. Such is the case for the animals. (Miller 322)

While it remains unclear whether or not every human being in every possible circumstance ought to be morally considerable, it is clear that life is precious for each of us, as it is to other living entities. If we care for our lives, and wish that our lives be preserved and protected, and if we are willing to extend this understanding to a moral law and medical practice that protects this same urge in anencephalic infants, on what grounds might we exclude yaks, okapi, or the endangered Iriomote cat? All things being equal, consistency requires the extension of moral standing beyond the human circle. 3. Human Limitations How far are human beings able to extend the circle of moral standing? Some philosophers assert that we are meant to be anthropocentric, just as “wolves typically conduct themselves in a lupucentric manner, eagles generally behave aquicentrically, and bees are fervent apiecentrists” (Thiele 178). Perhaps partiality is not only to be expected but accepted. In making judgments about the moral status of living things, we are not (or should not be) seeking to estimate their value from the viewpoint of the gods, or that of the universe. We are not gods but human beings, reasoning about how we ought to think and act. Our moral

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theories can only be based upon what we know and what we care about, or ought to care about. (Warren 43)

If this is the case, is it reasonable to expect animals such as human beings to establish a more inclusive ethical vision? To accept the human tendency to be selfish seems misguided for three reasons. First, history and the development of moral philosophy do not support this conclusion. Self-centered partiality has been the successful target of ethical theory for centuries. The abolition of slavery in the United States required Southerners “to give up their biggest economic investment” (“Underground”). Cotton—sown, grown, and picked by slaves—was the most important export—more important than all other exports combined (“Underground”). Today few would argue that the economic base of the South, or the personal economic interests of those involved, were more important than protecting basic interests of individuals. Second, if predominant Western morality accepts that human beings are fundamentally selfish and abandons protectionist ethics as a consequence, repercussions will come back to nip us in the heels. In the absence of a morally relevant distinction between all human beings and all anymals, an affirmation of human selfishness will ultimately lead to the conclusion that individuals who are entitled to be selfish with other species are no less entitled to be selfish with one another. Third, any vision that abandons our ongoing quest for a more expansive, compassionate ethic runs contrary to the general understanding of what it is to be a human being. People tend to identify bees with an extremely complex social order, whales with gentleness in spite of tremendous strength, and eagles for grace in flight and keen eyesight. The majority of Westerners have long held that human beings are the quintessential rational and uniquely moral animal. If people accept that they are fundamentally selfish and incapable of maintaining a consistent ethic of respect for life, then we will need to reexamine our understandings of who we are. How can the human animal be praised for attributes we are unwilling, or unable, to employ or exhibit? 4. An Ongoing Endeavor The previous few chapters have presented and defended an ethic that moves beyond persons and rights, beyond vertebrates and sen-

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tience, and beyond assumed levels of consciousness to include all living entities that endeavor to persist. The concept of such an expansive ethic is not new: Ancient religious beliefs, born before the advent of human history, include ethical teachings that protect all life and view human beings as just one type of being among many remarkable entities. This ancient spiritual vision has been supported by modern science and contemporary philosophers: [I]t is ethically wrong to suppose that we need and ought to establish a criterion of moral considerability . . ., [to] persevere in our unethical Western imperial venture. That is, putting any criterion into practice is an act of domination, an arbitrary act of power and violence to the beings that are thereby rendered Other (i.e., constructed as objects of domination and control). The assumption that we can and ought to establish a criterion of considerability should therefore be abandoned. Once it is, however, we come to the perhaps startling (and to those who are captivated by this assumption, seemingly bizarre) realization that everything must be given moral consideration. (Birch 318)

In light of a comparatively inclusive dominant ethic concerning human life and moral standing, and in light of the conspicuous absence of any morally relevant distinction between all humans and every other living entity, the conclusion is inescapable: All living entities ought to be acknowledged as morally considerable. If ethical theories are to have practical relevance, those committed to a more consistent ethic—more specifically an ethic that extends moral standing to nonhuman life—ought to reflect this commitment in word and deed. Conscientious individuals are called upon to seek legal backing in order to force change in a morally negligent world. “The law must be made to recognize . . . that non-humans have claims to life, freedom and the pursuit of happiness just as we do; and among the liberties that individual non-humans should be able to enjoy is the freedom from exploitation by humankind” (Ryder, Animal 332). Growing evidence indicates that a handful of human beings are ready to rise to this moral challenge. One of the most well-known lawsuits among protectionists was “on behalf of a small rare fish, the snail darter, [which] derailed construction of a $100 million dam” on the Little Tennessee River (Stone 178). Such a legal case would have been unthinkable fifty years ago. Somewhere in the last halfcentury the snail darter, and at least one ecosystem, became a serious

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moral consideration (even if only to satisfy the human desire to preserve species). A handful of people were willing to expend thousands of dollars, and considerable time and effort, to protect the lives of goats and wildflowers on the San Clemente Islands. Protectionist law is growing; Harvard’s law school now offers a course on this important subject. Court cases involving anymals, and anymal issues, are increasingly common. People are calling others to task for abuse, neglect, and exploitation. There will come a time when a speeding driver cannot simply run into a deer, and drive off, leaving her to what death she will find. The time will come when those who drive by such suffering, and fail to render assistance, will be called to task for their indifference, when such behavior will be recognized as morally abhorrent. Looking to our own past provides a vision of how we might one day look back on those who have shown indifference or cruelty to these other beings, how we might view those who have capitalized on the well-being and lives of millions of anymals: Slave-owners and Nazis used the same pathetic excuses that cattle ranchers and vivisectors use today. If I had grandparents who were slave owners or Nazis, I would be ashamed and I would change my last name. Who are the heroes? The people that had the guts to stand up against cruelty and indifference, to speak up against the majority on issues like slavery, to try to save people from concentration camps. They are the heroes, they are who I would want as an ancestor. I look at animal exploiters today . . . their horrid animal torture, and I think, their grand-kids are going to change their names! They are an embarrassment to future generations! Who’s going to be a hero four generations from now? Who are they going to make movies about . . . movies like Schindler’s List? They’re going to make movies about those working for the Animal Liberation Front, about people fighting for the rights of animals, about those who are now called terrorists, people like Ingrid Newkirk (Founder and President of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals), Joyce Tischler (founder and Executive Director of Animal Legal Defense Fund), Carol Adams, or Jane Goodall. The real terrorists will be exposed . . . people like Charlie Bell, CEO of McDonald’s; E. Sander Connolly, assistant professor of neurosurgery at Columbia who has been conducting stroke experiments on baboons for years; and Burton Tansky, CEO of Neiman Marcus stores, who still sells fur from animals who were anally electrocuted or skinned alive. (Bury)

Socrates taught that “the unexamined life is not worth living.” Today the Socratic injunction to “Know thyself ” entails

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recognizing that one is a single life form among many and that one inhabits an environment that is complex beyond our current understanding and easily perturbed. It also means recognizing that one is part of a global community that has existed for centuries and will, one hopes, exist for many more and that the capacity for an aesthetic appreciation of the majesty, complexity and wonder of the natural world is part of what makes us who we are. (Russow 12)

Dominant Western ethics with regard to the moral standing of anymals are not only unacceptable because they are inconsistent, but also because they disregard our biological affiliation with anymals; exemplify a lack of appreciation for the majesty, complexity, and wonder of life; and reveal a lack of understanding for the fleeting nature of our personal physical existence.

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