The Sharing of a Vision of Animal Life: Exploring an Alternative to Argument (article)
It has long been taken for granted by the mainstream tradition in animal ethics that if one is to be properly convinced of a claim like ‘all animals are equal,’ the convincing must done via logical argumentation. I aim to show that there is nothing obvious nor inevitable about such a conclusion. Rather, its appeal depends solely on a set of dubious assumptions (moral in nature) that have not been made explicit: that rationality is always the human capacity most essential to morality, that it is preferable for our values to be chosen by us rather than let them be dictated by our circumstances, and that the reasons we give in defense of these choices ought to be formulated in a language general enough so that anyone, no matter who they are and what they happen to care about, can understand and appreciate them. Contrary to such a picture of moral life, I argue that the exercise of the imagination is also important to the practice of morality, that value is not always chosen but is sometimes discovered as a result of attending selflessly to the world, and that the reasons we give for our choices are sometimes deeply personal and thus not easily understood by others who happen to differ significantly from us. From this alternative account of the moral life, a different approach to persuasion may be derived: what I, following Iris Murdoch, will be calling ‘the sharing of a vision.’ I end by exploring the ramifications that this method of persuasion may have for grassroots animal advocacy.
“Flesh Eating as the Ritualized Enactment of Human Supremacy” (Article)
The reasons commonly given for why we all ought to be vegan are not as strong as its proponents seem to think. Even if true that industrial animal agriculture constitutes one of the greatest evils in the world today, still it isn’t clear what the individual is required to do about it. To abstain from animal products entirely might, after all, come at a huge cost to oneself while being negligible in terms of its impact on aggregate demand. And sure, we may demand of each that they ‘play their part’ in addressing societal ills, but why insist specifically on veganism as the basic non-negotiable obligation that applies equally to each and every one of us? Surely a humanitarian aid worker who travels into warzones and puts their life on the line can be excused if they decide they haven’t the energy to worry also about what not to eat. And even if ones does make it a top priority in their lives to reduce animal suffering, still that wouldn’t always necessarily require them to be vegan. Eating animals you have hunted yourself is likely less bad in terms of aggregate welfare than is consuming plants sourced from intensive farming operations (given all the collateral damage caused by the machinery used and fertilizer runoff, etc.). The same goes for roadkill, for flesh that would otherwise go to waste, and of course for cultivated meat. And if it turns out that the aversion is simply to the consumption of flesh itself, then veganism may in turn be symptomatic of a desire to extricate ourselves from natural processes characterized by relations of edibility (we eat and are eaten in turn). Surely such an anti-ecological posture can be nothing but self-defeating for a movement that has as its aim to reestablish a more respectful relationship with non-human others.
For the above-stated reasons, a vegan identity as presently understood provides at best a shaky foundation for the work of animal liberation. There are two ways of addressing this problem: Either we march on towards a post-vegan animal advocacy, or we entirely rethink what it means to be vegan. In sketching out what the second approach might look like I argue that veganism doesn’t necessarily have to be tied, as it currently is, to the aim of increasing aggregate welfare and/or to a strict condemnation of flesh itself. The former we saw isn’t enough to motivate action, the second can implicate us in potentially regressive and sinister ideologies, and both fumble and waver when it comes to offering prescriptions, dictating proper conduct. But it is possible, I think, to change veganisms’ object, its essential meaning, while keeping it as a unifying marker of identity and a compelling alternative to the status quo. Ando so, I propose that veganism be thought of primarily as a practice, designed to be maximally disruptive to human supremacy: arguably the most foundational and malignant of all false ideologies, an ideology kept alive in large part by the ritual of flesh-eating.
It has long been taken for granted by the mainstream tradition in animal ethics that if one is to be properly convinced of a claim like ‘all animals are equal,’ the convincing must done via logical argumentation. I aim to show that there is nothing obvious nor inevitable about such a conclusion. Rather, its appeal depends solely on a set of dubious assumptions (moral in nature) that have not been made explicit: that rationality is always the human capacity most essential to morality, that it is preferable for our values to be chosen by us rather than let them be dictated by our circumstances, and that the reasons we give in defense of these choices ought to be formulated in a language general enough so that anyone, no matter who they are and what they happen to care about, can understand and appreciate them. Contrary to such a picture of moral life, I argue that the exercise of the imagination is also important to the practice of morality, that value is not always chosen but is sometimes discovered as a result of attending selflessly to the world, and that the reasons we give for our choices are sometimes deeply personal and thus not easily understood by others who happen to differ significantly from us. From this alternative account of the moral life, a different approach to persuasion may be derived: what I, following Iris Murdoch, will be calling ‘the sharing of a vision.’ I end by exploring the ramifications that this method of persuasion may have for grassroots animal advocacy.
“Flesh Eating as the Ritualized Enactment of Human Supremacy” (Article)
The reasons commonly given for why we all ought to be vegan are not as strong as its proponents seem to think. Even if true that industrial animal agriculture constitutes one of the greatest evils in the world today, still it isn’t clear what the individual is required to do about it. To abstain from animal products entirely might, after all, come at a huge cost to oneself while being negligible in terms of its impact on aggregate demand. And sure, we may demand of each that they ‘play their part’ in addressing societal ills, but why insist specifically on veganism as the basic non-negotiable obligation that applies equally to each and every one of us? Surely a humanitarian aid worker who travels into warzones and puts their life on the line can be excused if they decide they haven’t the energy to worry also about what not to eat. And even if ones does make it a top priority in their lives to reduce animal suffering, still that wouldn’t always necessarily require them to be vegan. Eating animals you have hunted yourself is likely less bad in terms of aggregate welfare than is consuming plants sourced from intensive farming operations (given all the collateral damage caused by the machinery used and fertilizer runoff, etc.). The same goes for roadkill, for flesh that would otherwise go to waste, and of course for cultivated meat. And if it turns out that the aversion is simply to the consumption of flesh itself, then veganism may in turn be symptomatic of a desire to extricate ourselves from natural processes characterized by relations of edibility (we eat and are eaten in turn). Surely such an anti-ecological posture can be nothing but self-defeating for a movement that has as its aim to reestablish a more respectful relationship with non-human others.
For the above-stated reasons, a vegan identity as presently understood provides at best a shaky foundation for the work of animal liberation. There are two ways of addressing this problem: Either we march on towards a post-vegan animal advocacy, or we entirely rethink what it means to be vegan. In sketching out what the second approach might look like I argue that veganism doesn’t necessarily have to be tied, as it currently is, to the aim of increasing aggregate welfare and/or to a strict condemnation of flesh itself. The former we saw isn’t enough to motivate action, the second can implicate us in potentially regressive and sinister ideologies, and both fumble and waver when it comes to offering prescriptions, dictating proper conduct. But it is possible, I think, to change veganisms’ object, its essential meaning, while keeping it as a unifying marker of identity and a compelling alternative to the status quo. Ando so, I propose that veganism be thought of primarily as a practice, designed to be maximally disruptive to human supremacy: arguably the most foundational and malignant of all false ideologies, an ideology kept alive in large part by the ritual of flesh-eating.
"On Fantasy and Fighting Bulls: Machismo and Animality in Modern Spain" (arcticle)
In this article, I develop an argument that I first advanced in my dissertation: that often animals serve as a vehicle for concealed meanings, and public discourse about them serves the purpose of gaining control over aspects of our lives that we dare not speak about publicly. Looking at the Spanish bullfight as an example, I advance the thesis that the growing social opposition to the bullfight can be partly explained as Spain’s attempt to fully sever its ties with oppressive gender ideologies (remnants of the Franco era), and partly as a consequence of the country’s growing ecological awareness. In both cases, there exists a shift in the collective self-definition of a people: a move away from I call “fantasies” of machismo and human supremacy—both exemplified and given voice in the ritual of the bullfight—towards a shared vision of a more inclusive and compassionate Spain.
The Jokes on Us: Making Sense of Animals' Senses of Humor
(Edited collection with Deborah Slicer, Bloomsbury Press)
Do animals other than humans delight in subverted expectations that result in ludicrous incongruities; find unfortunate others sources of amusement; release repressed impulses and pent-up energy in wildly inappropriate contexts and actions; do they joke—perhaps tease or engage in physical slapstick—to initiate play or as a kind of play; are they shaken by what C.K. Chesterton called a “beautiful madness,” laughter? In short, do other animals have senses of humor? Almost without exception, writers on humor exclude nonhuman animals from the redic universe. But contributors to Jokesters take seriously other animals’ notions and enactments of funny. Social and biological scientists share relevant anecdotes, field and lab studies, theories about the evolutionary function and trajectory of humor. Philosophers and other scholars in Animal Studies respond to varieties of skeptics who deny nonhuman animals have the cognitive hard drive to experience humor. Jokesters also includes contributions from practitioners--veterinarians and rehabilitators, professionals who by necessity have learned to “speak” horse or elephant or bear in order to stay safe while being intimate, which includes joking, with animals.
Humor is a complicated social experience, probably most satisfying when shared with those who share our sense of life. It’s also essentially joyful, a hit of the universe’s vital elan. As social, as joyful, contributors make the case that humor has moral traction and thus practical consequences for how we treat our animal kin.
In this article, I develop an argument that I first advanced in my dissertation: that often animals serve as a vehicle for concealed meanings, and public discourse about them serves the purpose of gaining control over aspects of our lives that we dare not speak about publicly. Looking at the Spanish bullfight as an example, I advance the thesis that the growing social opposition to the bullfight can be partly explained as Spain’s attempt to fully sever its ties with oppressive gender ideologies (remnants of the Franco era), and partly as a consequence of the country’s growing ecological awareness. In both cases, there exists a shift in the collective self-definition of a people: a move away from I call “fantasies” of machismo and human supremacy—both exemplified and given voice in the ritual of the bullfight—towards a shared vision of a more inclusive and compassionate Spain.
The Jokes on Us: Making Sense of Animals' Senses of Humor
(Edited collection with Deborah Slicer, Bloomsbury Press)
Do animals other than humans delight in subverted expectations that result in ludicrous incongruities; find unfortunate others sources of amusement; release repressed impulses and pent-up energy in wildly inappropriate contexts and actions; do they joke—perhaps tease or engage in physical slapstick—to initiate play or as a kind of play; are they shaken by what C.K. Chesterton called a “beautiful madness,” laughter? In short, do other animals have senses of humor? Almost without exception, writers on humor exclude nonhuman animals from the redic universe. But contributors to Jokesters take seriously other animals’ notions and enactments of funny. Social and biological scientists share relevant anecdotes, field and lab studies, theories about the evolutionary function and trajectory of humor. Philosophers and other scholars in Animal Studies respond to varieties of skeptics who deny nonhuman animals have the cognitive hard drive to experience humor. Jokesters also includes contributions from practitioners--veterinarians and rehabilitators, professionals who by necessity have learned to “speak” horse or elephant or bear in order to stay safe while being intimate, which includes joking, with animals.
Humor is a complicated social experience, probably most satisfying when shared with those who share our sense of life. It’s also essentially joyful, a hit of the universe’s vital elan. As social, as joyful, contributors make the case that humor has moral traction and thus practical consequences for how we treat our animal kin.