Many thanks to Josh for the opportunity to publish on his blog. What follows is a slightly revised and expanded version of my original remarks in response to "In Defense of Fishing," along with a lengthier summary of our subsequent exchange over email. Comments are welcome and encouraged.
My original response
Hey Josh. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. As an ethical vegan [1], I obviously disagree fundamentally with much of what you say, even while I appreciate how honest, open, and morally serious you are in trying to work through your thoughts on these issues in such a systematic way. What follows are just a few general comments and reactions I had while reading your piece, very much offered in the spirit of friendly inquiry.At a general level, I think you’re absolutely right to note that considerations about ‘fairness,’ the environment, and the like can only go so far in thinking one’s way through to the moral core of the issue. As you rightly point out, the more pressing question seems to be whether there could be any defensible justification for killing animals (or as I would say, using animals in any way, shape, or form) — particularly in view of the fact that we can (again, as you rightly note) live perfectly healthy, happy lives without doing so. [2]
My response is that there simply is no so such justification. Animals are not things; nor are they resources or property. Animals are selves; beings with a subjective experience of the world, a capacity to feel pain, pleasure, fear, safety, confusion, disorientation, etc. (i.e. states that are ‘like something’ to be in). Granted, most, perhaps all, non-human animals lack the requisite cognitive sophistication to conceptualize, much less articulate, any of this (which is precisely why they need human advocates), but this shouldn’t, in my view, stop us from recognizing that these are beings for whom, and to whom, quality of life matters (I include in the phrase ‘quality of life’ here the basic interest in continuing to have one). I would argue that these considerations alone suffice to ground the strong animal rights position that animals ought to be viewed as having a fundamental moral standing, up to and including a comprehensive package of basic rights (first and foremost being the right not to be killed, enslaved, experimented on, and so on). Obviously this is meant to be taken only as a snapshot of — not an argument for — the strong animal rights position; if anyone is looking for an argument, I’d recommend Gary Francione, or my former professor, Will Kymlicka (specifically, the first few chapters of Zoopolis: A Political Theory of Animal Rights, co-authored with Sue Donaldson).
But getting back to the question at hand — why, or on what grounds, might we think it morally defensible to kill animals, given that, let’s face it, we really don’t need to — to my mind the most important consideration here is just that; necessity. As long-time vegan, animal rights activist, and Rutgers professor (of law and philosophy) Gary Francione often points out, there is an important if underappreciated sense in which many of us, perhaps even most of us, actually are vegan (in spirit) already. This is the sense in which we already accept (or, one hopes, we would accept, upon reflection) the principle that animals ought not to be made to suffer unnecessarily. Here’s the catch: however we go on to unpack the details of what it means for something to be ‘necessary’ in this context, it seems clear that even the most minimal construal is going to have to preclude anything whose justification appeals solely to reasons based in convenience, entertainment, recreation, pleasure, and so on. The trouble is, these really are the only reasons we have for continuing to use animals. [This is a rough paraphrase of something he said during an interview once; I am unable to recall the exact source, but I'm sure it can be found on his website].
One might object at this point by claiming that there are deeper, socio-historical reasons in support of our legitimately using animals — reasons deriving from cultural or religious traditions, for example — in short, reasons which are not wholly reducible to convenience, pleasure, and the like. In my view, this objection amounts to little more than what philosophers refer to as the "naturalistic fallacy" (a.k.a. the "is/ought" problem), which points out that one cannot legitimately derive an "ought" (e.g. we should continue using animals) from an "is" (e.g. we have always used animals). We should also bear in mind here that we would hardly accept, as a legitimate moral justification for, e.g., sexism or slavery, the claim that practices of this sort are culturally prescribed and/or religiously enshrined. To the contrary, we would insist that cultural and religious traditions that enjoin such practices should transform — indeed conform — to the universal moral truth that men and women are entitled to equal concern and respect, that people are not property, and so on. Vegans, of the strong animal rights persuasion, maintain that the same goes for using animals.[3]
Getting back to the necessity, or lack thereof, of using/killing animals: though not directly in response to this, at one point you talk about the fallacy of supposing that the only rewards of killing a fish are to be found in the enjoyment of a tasty meal; noting that there are in fact a great many other rewards to be had. You then list amongst such rewards the satisfaction of, e.g. knowing where the fish lived, how it was caught, killed, roughly what its diet was like, etc. Since these are only going to be counted as ‘rewards’ if one already thinks it morally permissible to kill (and eat) fish, I don’t view them as having any real countervailing weight against the unnecessary suffering injunction introduced above (for these same reasons, I would personally also dismiss the satisfaction of feeling connected to the land, harvesting one’s own food, etc. since these are all pleasures one can obtain without using and/or killing animals). You then discuss the pleasures of feeling engrossed with nature, of escaping the frenzy of urban climes for the serenity and peace of just being out on the river, and so forth. Though I personally found this to be more interesting, you won’t be surprised to hear that I’m not inclined to view this as having any justificatory force whatsoever; again, the simple reason being that this just is not something whose attainment requires killing animals (hiking, canoeing, and nature photography are probably the most obvious alternatives that spring to mind).
RE: your discussion of the idea of a ‘moral remainder’ or ‘moral residue’ — more precisely, your remarks about the acknowledgement of, and attitude toward, this remainder as the mark that distinguishes the venerable from the despicable angler — my thoughts are less clear. Certainly I do recognize that there is a difference between the two types of anglers you describe (presumably a moral difference, though I’m not sure just what sort of difference this is); though, as a vegan, I’m more inclined to gloss the distinction as one between the infliction of more vs. less harm. Still, trivially, recognizing the fact that less harm is obviously preferable to more harm (in whatever context) is fully compatible with questioning (or, in my case, denying) the need for any such harm to begin with.
I suppose the parts I had the most trouble with were your remarks about solemnity, deep respect, and attitudes of this sort in the context of killing and eating fish. At one point you mention how one might even think of appropriately reverent, ‘humane’ killing as a kind of sacrament. But to whom (or what), and for whom (or what) is this sacrament undertaken in the first place? Oneself? The fish? In any case, why does the act need to take place at all? I was similarly perplexed by your suggestion that part of this attitude can be thought of in terms of gratitude or thankfulness. At one point you say "one might thank the fish for giving up its life?" I realize, of course, that this isn’t an especially novel notion, as it is no doubt part of many traditional hunter-gatherer cultures. The trouble is, it’s incoherent — or so, at least, I would argue. In the first instance, the fish does not ‘give up its life,’ rather, its life is taken. Moreover, the fish obviously lacks the cognitive capacity to appreciate the thought that its death, in whatever small measure, contributes (as nourishment) to the aspirationally admirable life of the angler who kills it; nor can the fish acknowledge, much less accept, the angler’s gratitude, any more than it can refuse consent to being recreationally jerked and tugged around by a hook, attached to a line, caught in its lip. So while I do think that you’ve hit on, and usefully emphasized, an important idea with that of the ‘moral remainder’ of killing fish (and presumably, animals in general), I would argue that, rather than search for ways we might offset or discharge this remainder, the truly admirable thing would be to simply not incur it in the first place.
Further Clarification
Following my initial response (in the comments section) to his post, Josh and I engaged in a lively and very fruitful email exchange; an exchange that afforded me a number of opportunities to clarify my position by responding to some important questions and objections that he raised. I suspect that we will have more to say about these issues in subsequent posts, but for now here’s the gist of it.The first objection Josh raised was to note that, even accepting the ‘no unnecessary suffering’ injunction for the sake of argument, it’s not clear why (on my view) killing animals should count as inherently wrong since, simply put, this needn’t involve suffering at all. Josh writes,
"Suppose I grant for the nonce that one ought not to cause unnecessary suffering. Even so, it seems to me you still lack an adequate basis for claiming that I ought not to kill anything, that is, not just fish, but also bears and geese and people and so on. The reason is just that death needn't involve any suffering. For one thing, you don't have to cause an organism to suffer prior to its death in order to make it die. As a case in point, consider this story. When I was much younger, I used to go deer hunting with my grandpa. Once, when I was hunting with him, I spotted a large buck within range and took aim. Shortly thereafter, the deer turned toward me. I shot him through the trachea and spinal cord, breaking his neck; he fell immediately. Thereafter, he didn't even twitch; he died immediately, before he even knew he was in danger. It seems to me obvious that that deer did not suffer prior to its death. And as for death itself, I don't think one experiences one's death; indeed, how could one? As Wittgenstein says (Tractatus, 6.4311), "Death is not an event in life." So how could death itself involve any suffering? If I'm right that this deer did not suffer when I killed it, then your principle is irrelevant and implies nothing about the moral status of my action. If you want to claim that I ought not to have done that, it seems to me you need to give me some other reason. I suspect you probably have one, and if so, I'd be interested to know it."I actually agree with most everything Josh says here. Certainly death needn't be preceded by much, or even any, suffering. Death can sometimes occur instantaneously (as his deer example illustrates); death, so to speak, needn't always involve the experience of dying.
Moving on to Wittgenstein (though I'm actually more familiar with this from Thomas Nagel; see his essay "Death," in Mortal Questions), Josh and I are more or less in agreement here too: death is not a state of experience; death, rather, is the cessation of all experience. Hence, by definition, no animal (fish, deer, human, etc.) experiences its own death. Death is just the onset of nothingness; but even that is misleading, since, again, there literally is no subject that undergoes this onset. So it looks like death, by its very nature, cannot straightforwardly be considered a harm, since a necessary condition of something even so much as counting as a harm — namely, the existence of a subject to whom the harm is attached — is entirely absent. Therefore, strictly speaking, no animal can be harmed by their own death. Or so, at least, one could argue.
Again, I more or less agree with all of this (or at least, for the sake of argument, am happy to go along with it). If I came off in my initial response as implying that I take the wrongfulness of killing fish (or any other animal) to be essentially or primarily a matter of the wrongfulness of inflicting felt harm, then I apologize, for I was not being clear.
Two points: the first is that my general philosophical leaning on the question of "how, and if so, in what sense, can a person be harmed by their own death?" is basically just Nagel's view (at least, I think it's his view): roughly, the badness or 'harmfulness' of death consists in the denial of possible future experience; thus we should say that it is the pre-mortem person who is harmed by their own death, because this is the subject who, after all, is robbed of future existence. One could argue that the same reasoning applies straightforwardly in the case of non-human animals as well: since it is independently plausible to think that all animals have a basic interest in continuing to exist [4], in killing one, we are violating a basic interest, and in violating this interest, we are harming a pre-mortem self.
But this is already far too intellectual and, in my view, not really necessary anyway; which brings me to my second point. As a vegan abolitionist [5], my view is this: because fundamental interests [6] are species-independent, membership in a particular species is not a prerequisite for membership in the class of beings to which fundamental moral concern ought to be extended. Simply put, the moral reasons in virtue of which it’s wrong for a human to kill another human — even in such a way as to ensure the death is as painless as possible; indeed, even instantaneous — are equally reasons for thinking this is impermissible in the case of non-human animals. [7] As I see it, the alternative double standard is ultimately just speciesism of one form or another.
Josh’s second question comes in the form of an interesting dilemma-posing thought experiment. He writes:
"I got the impression from your original comments that you think that, if it were necessary for humans to eat meat, in the sense that, if we didn't, we would fail to get some essential nutrient and so eventually die, it would be permissible to eat animals. Am I right about that? If I am, then I wonder what you think about this. Suppose that it were necessary for us to eat meat in this sense. Would it then be permissible for us to eat one another? If you say no, as it seems to me you should, it seems to me that you are according humans and non-human animals different sets of basic rights, which, I take it, is something you want to avoid."This is, indeed, a tricky question, one that’s been exercising me for a while now, ever since Josh first posed it to me. In response, I would begin by directing the reader’s attention to an instructive passage from Kymlicka and Donaldson [8], a passage which I believe holds the key to framing a plausible vegan response to the dilemma Josh poses.
"...[T]his term [inviolability] does not mean that basic rights are absolute and exceptionless. This is not true in either the human or animal case, as in cases of self-defence. Human beings have an inviolable right to life, but killing another human being is permissible if it is done out of self-defence or necessity. So, too, with animals. There is also a historical dimension to the issue of inviolability. At different stages of human history, or in particular contexts, humans have had to harm and/or kill animals in order to survive. In that sense, too, basic inviolable rights are not absolute or unconditional.
"This raises a more general point about the nature of justice: namely, that it only applies in certain circumstances — what Rawls (following Hume) calls the 'circumstances of justice.' Ought implies can: humans only owe justice to each other when they are in fact able to respect each other's rights without jeopardizing their own existence. Rawls calls this the requirement of 'moderate scarcity:' justice is necessary because there isn't an unlimited pool of resources such that everyone can have everything that they want; but for justice to be possible, the competition for resources must be moderate rather than severe, in the sense that I can afford to recognize your legitimate claims without undermining my own existence.
"We can contrast this with what are sometimes called 'lifeboat cases,' when there is too little food or shelter for all to survive. In these lifeboat conditions, the most extreme actions may need to be contemplated. In order to avoid everyone on the boat dying, one person may be sacrificed, or sacrifice themselves, and various proposals have been made about how to decide who should live and who should die. But the existence of such extreme lifeboat cases tells us nothing about the basic rights we owe each other in the normal case where the circumstances of justice do apply. In moderate scarcity, rather than lifeboat cases, murdering other humans for food or shelter is wrong."
(Underlining added)
The potential application of these remarks to the case Josh describes is clear enough: the circumstances of justice, one could argue, simply do not apply in a world like this; indeed, to a vegan, the world itself is essentially just one big survival situation (morally speaking). In such a world, we would have no choice but to kill and eat animals in order to survive.
To be sure, this is not (yet) an altogether satisfying response; though it does, I think, contain the makings of one. Though promising as far as it goes, the problem is that, as it stands, it does not really address the full force of Josh’s challenge, since now the question has become: in virtue of what, by vegan lights, are we justified in viewing the circumstances of justice as continuing to hold between one another, but not between ourselves and non-human animals? Appeals to ‘necessity’ are no use here either, since our survival in this world could equally be obtained by killing (and eating) one another. Why, then, should we not regard this as equally morally permissible? Indeed, wouldn’t our failure to do so constitute the very essence of speciesism?
The short answer, I think, is: yes. To understand ourselves as no longer in the circumstances of justice with non-human animals in such a case, even while retaining this standing with our fellow humans, would amount to a form of speciesism; I cannot see a way around this. Now, if you are vegan, this might appear to be a somewhat awkward point to concede; thought it is not, I think, a damning one, for reasons that should become clear in a moment. But first, consider the following alternative. Suppose one were to argue that it actually would be morally permissible to kill and eat humans in such a world, stressing, all the while, the following qualification: the equal permissibility of killing human and non-human animals in this scenario does not automatically entail that one is morally obligated to show no preference between the two. If this much is accepted, then perhaps vegans could consistently maintain that, in the scenario Josh describes, preference could legitimately be shown for killing non-human animals (over humans) in order to survive? If the former strategy appears somewhat awkward, this one is bound to seem downright lawyerly in its verbal maneuvering, and I doubt very much that there are many who would be persuaded by it. At the moment, then, perhaps the only thing one can say for sure is that, if you are a vegan, such a world would be morally tragic whatever the correct response turns out to be.
As it happens, I myself feel that the first strategy is the correct response. In saying this, however, I am opening the door to a very natural objection. In particular, some might insist that my countenancing speciesism in this hypothetical scenario fatally undermines any supposed reasons of principle I might cite for rejecting it in this world. The claim, then, is that I cannot consistently have it both ways; what goes for the one case, goes for the other. This objection is overblown. To see that this is so, note that, by itself, the fact that some, probably most, vegans (myself included) would feel compelled in such a case to accept solidarity with their own species over countenancing the equal permissibility of killing human and non-human animals really lends nothing at all in the way of support to the strong conclusion that we are secretly, deep down, tacit speciesists — any more than my choosing to kill a complete stranger over my partner in an extreme ‘lifeboat’ type of scenario implies that, deep down, part of me harbours a secret desire to kill strangers. In short, if my response to Josh’s dilemma reveals anything, it is that speciesism, of the sort we are considering here, is nothing if not a tragic, last-ditch, moral compromise that vegans would view themselves as forced to make. On that note, it struck me that this scenario is potentially very interesting to consider from the perspective of Josh’s notion (sub Hursthouse) of the ‘moral remainder,’ or ‘moral residue.’ In such a world, it seems to me (and, if I’m not mistaken, to Josh as well) that our killing/eating behavior would accrue an enormous moral debt in just the sense he describes in his post. Of course, my initial suggestion — that the truly admirable thing to do would be to simply not incur such debt in the first place — would not apply here. Indeed, the global condition of our species in such a world would seem to be one of moral emergency; the cost of survival itself involving a sort of ‘moral tax’ that we would have no choice but to pay. One response would be to stress that we have a standing duty to bring about the circumstances of justice where they don’t currently obtain. [9] So, with this in mind, in response to Josh’s dilemma vegans can and should maintain that, however we understand our moral responsibilities toward non-human animals in the immediate interim in such a world, our long-term responsibility is clear: we would be under a moral obligation to seek out alternative means of survival; means that do not require us to kill animals. What’s more, given our considerable ingenuity as a species, this would presumably be well within our reach.
Most important of all, however, is to bear in mind Kymilcka and Donaldson’s final point in the passage above — which is simply to remind us that, whatever our feelings about what we might, or even must, do in these hypothetical ‘moral emergency’ scenarios, such philosophizing really tells us little to nothing about what we should do in the here and now. In other words, (thankfully!) we do not live in the sort of world Josh raises for consideration; it is not necessary to kill and eat animals to survive. In this world, I submit, we do find ourselves in the circumstances of justice with animals.[10]
In closing, and at the risk of sounding too clichéd, I would just add that it really is the essence of philosophical inquiry to examine one’s own life first and foremost. I’m not sure I’d go as far as Socrates in saying that the unexamined life is not worth living, but I do feel that we owe it to ourselves to examine, and re-examine, our convictions (and our assumptions) from time to time and, most importantly, be prepared to revise, or even reject, them should we come to feel that, on reflection, they are no longer worthy of our continued allegiance. This is particularly important with respect to our consumptive decisions, since, arguably, these are the decisions that have the most direct impact in the world — not only on our own health and well-being (physical, spiritual, moral), but also on that of the planet and, indeed, the other beings (human and non) with whom we share this world. At the end of the day, of course, this is all just words; and words can only take us so far. If anyone is interested in learning more about these issues, I would highly recommend the documentary film A Peaceable Kingdom: The Journey Home — which, unlike some films of its kind, is every bit as powerful and tastefully done as it is watchable and (for the most part) non-graphic. On a personal note, I would add that this film is what compelled me to go vegan, by helping me to find the courage to realize that my own consumptive behavior (as a vegetarian of almost ten years) was still fundamentally out of sync with what I innately knew to be right, but had long ignored.
Thanks again to Josh for the opportunity to post my response on his blog, and, of course, for the interesting (and ongoing!) debate about these important issues.
[1] By "ethical vegan" I mean someone whose veganism derives from the belief that animals have an intrinsic moral status as beings that ought always to be treated as ends in themselves. The term is sometimes used to differentiate vegans of this sort from those whose veganism is motivated by, e.g., health concerns, religious prescription, or environmental reasons.
[2] The truth of this notwithstanding, one might still wonder what veganism would entail if (contrary to fact) it actually was not possible to be at least as healthy on a balanced, nutritionally responsible vegan diet as an omnivore diet; that is to say, if being vegan meant being less healthy overall than nutritionally responsible omnivores. This has actually come up in conversation a couple times for me and, though I confess I've not really thought it through in any great depth, my gut reaction has always been to say that one ought to still be vegan. Some vegans might think that, even if this is the right response generally speaking, there is in principle some threshold (of unhealthiness) beyond which it would simply be unreasonable for veganism to imply that one ought nevertheless be prepared to accept. Then again, other vegans might deny this. Thankfully, this scenario is counterfactual only; it is possible to be perfectly healthy on a nutritionally responsible vegan diet. But even so, it behooves vegans to consider it carefully, since we should all of us, vegan and non, aspire to better understand the logic of our own convictions. At the moment, I confess that I'm not sure where I stand on this 'threshold' question.
[3] A more promising objection strategy (according to some) is to stress that, even granting for the sake of argument that we ought not to use animals for any of the reasons considered so far, the case of medical experimentation is not as clear-cut. Here, one might argue (indeed, even some self-styled ethical ‘vegans’ argue this), we are morally justified in using/killing animals since, had we not used animals in this way, many humans would surely have died over the years (and, indeed, would die in the future), bereft of the life-saving medicines and treatments we would otherwise have acquired. In short, one might argue that we have an overriding interest based in our own survival (which, presumably, is as necessary a reason as any) that justifies using animals; simply put, the alternative is a ‘sacrifice’ we should not have to make. The right response to this, I think, is clear enough. Here I defer to Will Kymlicka and Sue Donaldson, who elaborate the response as follows. On p.44 (Kindle edition) of their book Zoopolis: A Political Theory of Animal Rights (Oxford University Press, 2011), they write:
"...[T]o view this as a sacrifice is already to misunderstand the moral situation. After all, there are countless medical technologies and medical advances that don’t exist today because we refuse to use human subjects for invasive experiments. It is hard to overestimate the advances that medical science could have made by now if researchers had been able to use human subjects, rather than imperfect animal stand-ins. Yet we do not view this as a sacrifice. We do not wake up every day lamenting all that untapped knowledge; we are not bitter about the restriction on human subjects that has so hampered medical advance; we do not worry that an overly squeamish attitude about respecting the rights of a few humans is standing in the way of longer and healthier lives for the rest of us. Indeed, anyone who viewed prohibitions on using humans as research subjects as a sacrifice would be seen as morally perverse. We fully understand, in the human context, that medical knowledge must advance within ethical boundaries, or it simply isn’t knowledge that we have a right to. This may force us to be more creative about how we learn, or to be more patient in waiting for results. Either way, it’s not something we view as a sacrifice. It’s a recognition that a world in which better or longer lives for the many are purchased by sacrificing the few is not a world worth living in.
"It will require a huge adjustment for societies to accept that medical knowledge gained by harming and killing animals is not knowledge to which we are entitled. But the costs of the adjustment would be temporary. After a few decades in which new practices became customary, and a new generation of researchers trained, animal experimentation would be perceived much as human experimentation is viewed today. Its prohibition would not be viewed as a cost, just as the absence of human experimentation is not viewed as a cost."[4] As Francione puts it (paraphrase), "To say that a being who is sentient has no interest in continuing to live is like saying that a being with eyes has no interest in continuing to see." I am not sure exactly where he says this, but it can be found on his website.
[5]Vegan abolitionism is the view that there simply are no grounds for our using, and killing, animals period. Abolitionism thus contrasts with what is known in the literature as "welfarism;" which is the view that there is nothing inherently wrong, in principle, with using, and even killing, animals for human ends, provided that we do so in a way that is ‘humane.’ Peter Singer is a good example of a well-known contemporary welfarist; Gary Francione is perhaps the most well-known vegan abolitionist.
[6] Roughly, our interests in not being abused, enslaved, physically exploited, killed, eaten, and so on.
[7] It’s conceivable that one could object that part of the problem here is that, all due respect to Nagel, it actually is not entirely clear just what’s morally wrong with painlessly, instantaneously, killing a person — provided, of course, the victim has no prior knowledge of their immanent death. To be sure, it’s hard to imagine anyone seriously raising such a concern beyond the context of the philosophical armchair, but nevermind that. The response is clear enough: we don’t need to know, with exhaustive philosophical precision, why something is wrong in order to know that it’s wrong — and we certainly do know that it’s wrong, other things being equal, to kill someone.
[8] Will Kymlicka and Sue Donaldson, Zoopolis: A Political Theory of Animal Rights (Oxford University Press, 2011), pp. 40-41; Kindle edition.
[9] This point is owed, once again, to Kymlicka and Donaldson (Ibid.)
[10] Kymlicka and Donaldson allow that there may be isolated communities of humans (in this world) whose survival depends on hunting animals; such communities, they say, might plausibly be regarded as not within the circumstances of justice with animals. (Ibid.)
© Adam Curran Reid 2013. All Rights Reserved.
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