What will future generations condemn us for?

One of my professors jokes that if he wants to see a bunch of law students pick up their pens, he'll say, "The court lays out a three-part test..."  Three is perhaps the perfect number: complex enough to be more than obvious, simple enough that you might actually try to remember the parts.

Ethicist Kwame Anthony Appiah proposes one such three-part test to answer the question, "What will future generations condemn us for?" A practice we'll likely come to regret has these features:

First, people have already heard the arguments against the practice. The case against slavery didn't emerge in a blinding moment of moral clarity, for instance; it had been around for centuries.  Second, defenders of the custom tend not to offer moral counterarguments but instead invoke tradition, human nature or necessity. (As in, "We've always had slaves, and how could we grow cotton without them?")  And third, supporters engage in what one might call strategic ignorance, avoiding truths that might force them to face the evils in which they're complicit.

To recap, that's (a) present opposition, (b) amoral rejoinders, and (c) strategic ignorance.

That seems right to me, and I'd add a tautological fourth.  The victims of any abhorrent practice - whether prisoners, animals, or the elderly - are frequently disrespected.  We abuse those we consider beneath us, and in a justificatory circular twist, we diminish those whom we abuse.  But anyway, Appiah offers four "contenders" for future widespread condemnation: the prison system, industrial meat production, institutionalizing the elderly, and environmental neglect.  I'd add homophobia and torture (in the near-future) and xenophobia and war (in the distant).

Also, I'm addicted to New Yorker cartoons.  This one's from the January 4, 2010 issue.

Nissan subverts species supremacy

People are fascinated by vegetarianism - and I think, somewhat afraid of it.  Every vegetarian has been asked the "why?" question countless times - enough times that if you're like me, you allow your answers to vary.  So, sometimes it's about stopping the cruelty to the 27 billion animals killed in the United States each year. Sometimes it's about protesting the unsafe working conditions of slaughterhouse laborers.  And sometimes it's about saving the planet, as animal agriculture generates more greenhouse gas emissions than all forms of transportation combined.

The latter two answers - about working conditions and climate change - provoke some guilt in the meat-eaters I talk to, or they make me feel uncomfortably holier-than-thou, which is why I try to avoid these conversations.  But the first answer, about animal rights, affects people in a different way.  It doesn't make them feel guilty about their eating choices; it makes them feel threatened, because (I think) asserting the natural rights of animals challenges our dominion over the little critters.  It subverts a sense of human supremacy that dates back to the Bible, when the god character creates "every beast of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name."

So kudos to Nissan for introducing its new electric car, Leaf, with a commercial that strikes at that hallowed sense of supremacy.  Humans are just one animal upon the earth, one that must live in harmony with it, not over and above it.  The melting ice-caps highlight the earth's fragility; it reminds us that our technological advances have not arrived in a vacuum but upon our own delicate planet.  Human choices affect others, even non-human others, and the revolutionary, even radical, message of this commercial, the one that makes our hair rise as the polar bear approaches the man and embraces him in that beautiful "awwww" moment, is that we should care.



The ad concludes: "Innovation for the planet, innovation for all."

Cruel and inedible

I don't know whether to be more amused or annoyed by the "Vegetarian Diet Policy" of the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Corrections:

"A visible sign shall be posted behind each serving line stating, 'Vegetarianism may lead to nutrient deficiencies. If you want to practice vegetarianism, seek professional education.'"

Practice vegetarianism? Is it a religion? Professional education? I suppose it's not surprising that prison administrators don't understand that vegetarians eat more than vegetables. Most people don't realize the wide variety of protein substitutes, or even the health benefits of a vegetarian diet. But their ignorance aside, I do appreciate the considerateness implied in the subsequent directive:

"All side dishes, when possible, should be prepared without added meat products, i.e. broth, gravy, and products that contain broth and gravy as ingredients."

Of course, whether that's actually implemented is a whole other matter. A friend and I debated this morning the merits of giving people the benefit of the doubt. It seems my interaction with the prison system has made me fairly distrustful - well, at least of prison bureaucracies.

Murphy was an African

If there's one way how Southern Africa affected me, it's this: I now expect things to go wrong. In Maryland, Rhode Island, New York, etc., I'd become used to a smooth punctual life. But while traveling, I was lucky if the public bus wasn't full or late or smelly or even broken-down. I started reviewing my notes from the summer, and came across this snippet from my first day, the NYC-London flight, when the airline attendant placed a meat lasagna dish on my tray.

"Sorry ma'am, I ordered a vegetarian meal."

"Sir, we do not provide vegetarian meals."

"At all?"

"At all." She turned to walk down the aisle.

"Then how could I have signed up for one when purchasing my ticket?"

"Sir, meal requests do not transfer from discount websites."

"Excuse me?" [Discount websites? Why not simply "other websites"? Was she intentionally demeaning, or did she deduce that because her airline had no veggie option, I had purchased my ticket elsewhere?]

"You cannot assume the airline is informed of those particulars."

As if it were my fault.

I let loose. "That's not the problem; the problem is that vegetarians aren't some marginal fringe group of radicals. It's a popular widespread choice, including clearly among your clientel."

She seemed to concede my point. Then conceding hers, I ate a lettuce-tomato salad for dinner.

Two months of travel later, I faced a similar problem on the flight home. I shrugged.

Oink to the NYT

I wonder sometimes how the NYT editorial board manages to push out so many opinions. Answer: Sometimes they get it wrong. PETA has offered a one million dollar reward for first person to come up with a method to produce commercially viable quantities of lab-created meat. A good idea, right? Well, the NYT criticizes it and these "radical animal-rights activists" who they say believe that it's "better for animals not to exist at all if there is a chance that they would suffer." Huh? Ending factory farming doesn't equal the extinction of animals. Fewer animals would exist, but so what? There's nothing wrong about not coming into existence.

The NYT endorses what they call "a more measured approach," by which they mean: "Ensure the least possible cruelty to animals, by all means, and raise them in ways that are both ethical and environmentally sound." Does "least possible cruelty" mean that some cruelty is okay? News flash: Factory-farming is cruel. If you want to avoid cruelty, don't do it. And if you do, stop pretending that you're treating animals "ethically."

Thanksgiving stem cells

Two nights ago, a friend and I discussed new findings on stem cells that "could ease ethical concerns" (NYT). I think "religious concerns" would be more accurate. In any case, scientists report that they can create the equivalent of embryonic stem cells without having to destroy a fertilized cell in the process. This new "breakthrough" seems unnecessary to me, at least on an ethical level. But it seems highly important in allowing stem cell research to go forward. The news meant more to this friend of mine (who approved this post, by the way). You see, he's a Christian. He was saying that cells 10-14 days after conception should be protected because they were, at the very least, life-on-its-way. I was saying, as I've written before, that something that could become life does not, by that very fact, have a right to it.

The conversation eventually moved on to other, more seasonal, topics.

"Hmm," said the friend, "I've got to pick up a turkey tomorrow."

"You know what the funny thing about all this is?" I asked. "That I believe that turkeys deserve life, and you don't."

* * *

Below are two cartoons on stem cells research. I love the first because I like to think that religious people don't always agree with their spokespeople. The second cartoon, which I don't like, illustrates the great struggle that some religious people face in deciding where they stand on stem cell research. For that, I think it's worth posting. But I should add: It's not actually true that embryonic stem cells destroyed in research would have become cute little kids had they not been used. As long as I'm on the topic, see this other cartoon about stem cells and this political video by Michael J. Fox from the 2006 elections.

Reincarnation

In your next life, what kind of animal would you be?

That was a topic at dinner last night. (Yes, I have wonderful friends.)

I said I'd be a moose. Years ago on a family trip to the Rockies (or maybe it was the Grand Tetons), we saw a moose from our white-water raft. It was gorgeous, and for some reason, though I haven't thought about that moose in ages, it came back to me last night. Why a moose? For one, they aren't factory farmed the way other animals are. And more than that, I have the sense that moose (yes, that's the plural) don't interact much with human populations. If I were an animal, I wouldn't want to bother with humans in my next life. How cruel they can be.

Fresh in my mind was a squirrel that lost its life just the previous day. I saw the whole episode unfold as I biked down the street: the furry beast jogging and then, sensing danger, darting across the road. "NO!" I called out, but to no avail. Its brittle bones crackled under the car tires, reverberating in my ears, death before my eyes. It's been two days since the massacre, but its body still rests on the pavement, ever flatter by the day. Sorry little guy.

I would not want to be a squirrel.

What if I could be a human again? I'm leaning yes. One friend at the table, who'd like to be a koala bear or maybe a sloth in her next life, suggested that she'd probably need a break.

What would you be?

PETA strikes again

An animal is not just a piece of meat. A woman on the other hand... So suggests (though not directly) PETA's new ad featuring Alicia Silverstone (below). It sends a very different message than their previous, more humorous "State of Union" ad available here (warning: nudity!).



Sex sells, of course. Everything is sold through sex. So maybe it's ludicrous to expect more from PETA. In the various vegetarian circles I've traveled in (including in my pre-vegetarian days), friends often debated the impact of PETA's ads on the public's perception of the vegetarian movement. Some think PETA is more of an asset than a liability, others vice-versa. But nearly no one thinks it doesn't constitute, on some level, a liability. I find PETA's tactics disappointing because they pit feminists against vegetarians when the two should complement each other. Some who study the "sexual politics of meat" even suggest they should cooperate. I also dislike PETA for making me and my vegetarian-ness radical. But everyone has beef with PETA, and their message doesn't derail mine. Most veggies have come to consider the group a fact of life. So we move on, pick up, and find better reasons to go veg. PETA's latest ad presents a fairly simplistic reason, more-or-less amounting to: "Since I went veg, I feel great." We can do better.

Coetzee's grace

I couldn’t figure out what to title this entry. It’s a review of J.M. Coetzee’s book, Disgrace. The book itself won the Booker Prize in 1999 and the author won the Nobel Prize in 2003. It’s also a commentary on animal welfare, sex, and race relations in post-Apartheid South Africa. I'd give it 5 stars (out of 5).

Warning: Spoilers follow.

Middle-aged David Lurie is a professor of romantic languages at the University of Cape Town until his university cancels his department. Though he stays on as an adjunct professor of communications, he never regains his stature. Then, the middle-age professor feels himself seduced by a student named Melanie Isaacs, who reluctantly accepts his advances. But Melanie’s unhappy boyfriend alerts the press, and Lurie, though unrepentant, is forced to resign. Disgraced, he goes to live with his daughter Lucy in the rural Eastern Cape.

As one might expect, a professor of English poetry doesn’t take well to farm work, but he volunteers anyhow to help Lucy’s friend Bev at an understaffed animal clinic. Bev’s chief duty is to kill unwanted dogs. David Lurie has no great aversion to animals, but no fondness for them either. Still, he can sense their suffering, though not at first. He tells Lucy at one point: “It’s admirable, what you do, what she [Bev] does, but to me animal-welfare people are a bit like Christians of a certain kind. Everyone is so cheerful and well-intentioned that after a while you itch to go off and do some raping and pillaging. Or to kick a cat” (73). Later, though, David Lurie himself gently places the dogs’ corpses into the incinerator because he can’t bear the thought that the workmen would beat the hardened bodies with the back of shovels to make them more pliable (146).

The story unfolds in post-apartheid South Africa, where a white man like David Lurie has not only fallen from grace but also from power. He is powerless to stop an attack on his daughter’s farm by three black men who rape her and light him on fire. This event and its meaning lie at the heart of the novel. Coetzee doesn’t need to embellish the event, as amateur writers often do well beyond necessity. Everything unfolds in simple language. I should add, though, that I was frustrated with how late Coetzee introduces the scene – halfway through the book – seeing how this book-turning “afternoon of violence that shakes all his beliefs” was ominously promised on the book-flap.

I’ve never read a writer quite like Coetzee. His writing is distinctive not only in its style and simplicity, but in the way he manages to include meaningful digresses. After the attack, for example, Bev’s husband Bill Shaw sees David Lurie to the hospital. Lurie thanks him.

“‘Nonsense!’ says Bill Shaw. ‘What else are friends for? You would have done the same.’

Spoken without irony, the words stay with him and will not go away. Bill Shaw believes that if he, Bill Shaw, had been hit over the head and set on fire, then he, David Lurie, would have driven to the hospital and sat waiting, without so much as a newspaper to read, to fetch him home. Bill Shaw believes that, because he and David Lurie once had a cup of tea together, David Lurie is his friend, and the two of them have obligations towards each other. Is Bill Shaw wrong or right? Has Bill Shaw, who was born in Hankey, not two hundred kilometers away, and works in a hardware shop, seen so little of the world that he does not know there are men who do not readily make friends, whose attitude towards friendships between men is corroded with scepticism?” (102).

Coetzee also speaks of the process of healing:

“He has recovered the sight of his eye completely. His scalp is healing over; he needs no longer use the oily dressing. Only the ear still needs daily attention. So time does indeed heal all. Presumably Lucy is healing too, or if not healing then forgetting, growing scar tissue around the memory of that day, sheathing it, sealing it off. So that one day she may be able to say, ‘The day we were robbed,’ and think of it merely as the when they were robbed” (141).

And of course, from the first paragraph of the book to the end, Coetzee speaks of sex, such as when David Lurie meets with his ex-wife Rosalind: “His best memories are still of their first months together: steamy summer nights in Durban, sheets damp with perspiration, Rosalind’s long, pale body thrashing this way and that in the throes of a pleasure that was hard to tell from pain. Two sensualists: that was what held them together, while it lasted” (187).

Sex is ubiquitous in this book, though not in a distasteful way. It is remarkable how Coetzee can write so much on sex, in a way that makes it routine, and yet reserve a special place for rape. Rape is not sex. And though Lucy and her father rarely speak of it, her rape changes everything. To some extent, it is a commentary on David Lurie’s own behavior with his less-than-consenting student. But this rape of a white woman by three black men is also, and more terrifyingly, a commentary on race relations in post-Apartheid South Africa. This exchange floored me:

“‘It was so personal,’ she says. ‘It was done with such personal hatred. That was what stunned me more than anything. The rest was … expected. But why did they hate me so? I had never set eyes on them.’

‘It was history speaking through them,’ he offers at last. ‘A history of wrong. Think of it that way, if it helps. It may have seemed personal, but it wasn’t. It came down through the ancestors.’

‘That doesn’t make it easier. The shock simply doesn’t go away. The shock of being hated, I mean. In the act’” (156).

And later:

“What if… what if that is the price one has to pay for staying on? Perhaps that is how they look at it; perhaps that it how I should look at it too. They see me as owing something. They see themselves as debt collectors, tax collectors. Why should I be allowed to live here without paying? Perhaps that is what they tell themselves” (158).

I offered a similar interpretation in the case of a robber who was placated by a glass of wine. Those who have been historically disempowered feel it is their prerogative to take vengeance, or at least to take what they consider theirs, what ought to belong to them.

Animals' capacity for suffering

My friend Nathan recently wrote about the scientific evidence on animal intelligence. Many animals, he says, “have demonstrated clear, laboratory evidence of representational thinking, computation, visual memory, and rudimentary language. Not to mention, for instance, other formerly solo homo abilities like empathy, ritual, culture, murder, and peacemaking.”

His comments connect well to a debate among animal welfare activists on whether an animal’s moral standing derives from its rational ability – say, to understand itself in the world – or from its capacity to experience suffering. Nathan cleverly operates outside this dichotomy, perhaps scoffing a bit at this largely academic debate, with the sense that good reasons never convinced anybody – or at least not the way that technological progress does. When meat substitutes become tasty and fashionable, he says, “then the ethical explications of our decision will follow.” More so than ethical argument, advances in the mode of production will change the way we eat.

In any case, I’m still thinking about why animals might have moral standing, besides of course, as Nathan says, “the intuitive sense that needless, wasteful mass slaughter is pretty ridiculous.” In the wake of my inconclusive post, “Vegetarianism without animal rights,” I’ve been exploring reasons to go vegetarian that are totally unconnected to animal welfare, such as how animal agriculture drives climate change. So in some way, this debate over rational ability versus capacity for suffering is really a distraction. But I think J.M. Coetzee has a wonderful commentary on the subject in his excellent book Disgrace, where David Lurie, a former English professor, helps Bev Shaw in the sour work of putting down unloved dogs at her animal clinic:

“His whole being is gripped by what happens in the theatre. He is convinced the dogs know their time has come. Despite the silence and the painlessness of the procedure, despite the good thoughts that Bev Shaw thinks and that he tries to think, despite the airtight bags in which they tie the new-made corpses, dogs in the yard smell what is going on inside. They flatten their ears, they droop their tails, as if they too feel the disgrace of dying; locking their legs, they have to be pulled or pushed or carried over the threshold. On the table some snap wildly left and right, some whine plaintively; none will look straight at the needle in Bev's hand, which they somehow know is going to harm them terribly” (143).

Coetzee's point, I think, is that ‘rational capacity’ and ‘suffering capacity’ are needlessly polarized.

Going veg for the planet

Global warming is one more reason to go vegetarian (among the ones I listed before) in a sea (read: melting ice-caps) of others.

The United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization's report, "Livestock's Long Shadow: Environmental Issues and Options" (November 2006), found that animal agriculture generates an extraordinary output of greenhouse gas emissions - indeed, more so than all forms of transportation combined. The report addresses livestock's role in climate change, air pollution, and water depletion. I would especially refer you Table 15 in Annex 2, which tracks the CO2 emissions of major meat trade flows. So, for example, the US shipped 2 million tons of poultry meat to China, Hong Kong, Japan, South Korea, Russia, Mexico, and Canada, from 2001-03, generating 137,000 tons of CO2 emissions. And that's just the USA. But the bulk of CO2 emissions comes from the burning of fossil fuels to produce nitrogen fertilizer for feedcrops (Table 3.4). This practice emits 41 million tons of CO2 worldwide, with the USA contributing almost 12 million. A skeptic might say that plant agriculture also generates CO2 emissions. But it is still far more efficient for a person to consume vegetarian products than to cycle food calories through an animal before finally consuming it oneself.

Now comes the scandal, and hence the NYT article, "Trying to Connect the Dinner Plate to Climate Change." The article disgusts me. We don't have to try. The evidence is there, though the NYT mostly ignores it. Instead, the NYT covers the following debate: Some have argued that one can't be an environmentalist without also being a vegetarian. See, for example, "How Environmentalists are Overlooking Vegetarianism as the Most Effective Tool Against Climate Change in Our Lifetimes." It suggests that our anti-climate change work should include vegetarian outreach, say in school lunch programs. To that end, animal welfare organizations have been running ads like the one above (by the Humane Society) or the one below (by PETA). Yes, their ads may seem opportunistic since these organizations clearly care more about reducing cruelty to animals than reducing CO2. But so what? Why deride this rather neat alliance?

Vegetarianism without animal rights

I've played around with the idea that animals, as senient beings, deserve lives free of pain. The argument goes something like: (1) animals can experience pain, (2) pain is bad, (3) it is wrong to inflict unnecessary pain, so finally, (4) long live the animal kingdom. I generally respect this argument. Just because the moral imperative to safeguard animal life is not as strong as the corresponding imperative for humans, it may still exist.

But I hesitate to base an argument for vegetarianism on the claim that "animals are people, too"- the idea that animals have morally relevant attributes that make them ends in and of themselves. First off, it rarely garners the support of anyone who likes eating animals. Second, many people are inclined to suppose (incorrectly) that if the animals-are-people-too argument fails, then farming animals is A-okay. Third, it's vulnerable to the "it's just natural" argument, which claims that because animals eat other animals, humans can eat them, too.

Plus, even if animals have significant moral interests, that doesn't mean necessarily that they have equal priority with human beings. If they did, then "owning" animals would be a form of slavery - and that's a crazy idea. It would mean that animals should not be used for any human purpose (i.e., animal testing, horse-back riding, pets, and of course, circuses). So answering the question, "Can moral behavior be observed in animals?" is not enough to answer the question of whether human beings ought to have jurisdiction over them, and if so, what kind of jurisdiction that should be. Also, it's unclear how to evaluate the morally relevant abilities of animals - with philosophy, biology, evolutionary psychology, or something else?

So hold your horses. Better arguments for vegetarianism are coming.

A horse whisperer at the NYT

The NYT editorial desk has joined the vegetarian revolution. Take a look at its editorial on Barbaro, the race horse who won the Kentucky Derby last year by seven full lengths, the race's largest margin of victory since 1946. After Barbaro shattered his ankle at the Preakness Stakes in May 2006, he underwent extensive surgeries that were, ultimately, unsuccessful. To the heartbreak of many but the objection of few, he was euthanized yesterday.

The NYT editorial:

"Barbaro’s death was tragic not because it was measured against the races he might have won or even against the effort to save his life. It was tragic because of what every horse is. You would have to look a long, long time to find a dishonest or cruel horse. And the odds are that if you did find one, it was made cruel or dishonest by the company it kept with humans. It is no exaggeration to say that nearly every horse — Barbaro included — is pure of heart. Some are faster, some slower. Some wind up in the winner’s circle. But they should all evoke in us the generosity of conscience — a human quality, after all — that was expended in the effort to save this one horse."

Of course I'm sympathetic. I'm still pondering, though, how the writer ascribes "pur[ity] of heart" to horses but manages to preserve "generosity of conscience" as a human quality.

In any case, one thing's for sure: better leave purity of heart to horses.

Pet owners are my pet peeve.

It seems that animal life is my theme for the moment. Here's another voice, that of Jonathan Safran Foer, on owning a pet:

In the course of our lives, we move from a warm and benevolent relationship with animals (learning responsibility through caring for our pets, stroking and confiding in them), to a cruel one (virtually all animals raised for meat in this country are factory farmed — they spend their lives in confinement, dosed with antibiotics and other drugs). How do you explain this? Is our kindness replaced with cruelty? I don’t think so. I think in part it’s because the older we get, the less exposure we have to animals. And nothing facilitates indifference or forgetfulness so much as distance. In this sense, dogs and cats have been very lucky: they are the only animals we are intimately exposed to daily.

Safran Foer is right about how distance - both physical and psychological - leads to indifference and forgetfulness. But he's off when he suggests that the inconveniences of caring for a dog "reinforce in me how much compromise is necessary to share space with other beings." I may be a burgeoning vegetarian, but I'm not exactly a pet lover, or a pet owner lover. In public parks, I am annoyed by dog owners who let their pets chase after me, sniff me, or slobber me. Some pet owners just can't seem to understand that not everyone loves their pets as much as they do. Talk about "shar[ing] space with other beings."

Pet owners like to assert that pets teach responsibility, especially to kids. Pets have to be fed and walked, their litter boxers have to be emptied. But even if it teaches responsibility, I'm not convinced that it teaches respect. Pets are subject to the whims of their "owners," who cuddle, cover, and carry them as they please. But isn't the "companionship" mutual? Ha! A pet isn't so much of a companion as a plaything. Imagine if I called you my "pet." Does anybody realize that that's an insult?! For kids, owning a pet is the first time they get to assert their dominance over another creature. And it's no wonder that so many pet owners are carnivores. So are their pets.

I've probably managed to insult lots of folks by now. And I haven't even been that clear. I'm not objecting to pets because I think that animal life is as precious as human life. What is it then, that bothers me about owning pets? Perhaps I'm irked because pet owners pretend to really respect animal life when it's much more of a hedonist affair, a cult of animal cuteness. Or maybe it's because pet owners invest so much in their pets, when resources could go elsewhere. But I try to stay away from such holier-than-thou reasoning. It stifles more than it stimulates. Plus, I think that pet owners are generally compassionate people. So what is it? Maybe it's because I just find the whole enterprise bizarre.

But I'm all for pet rocks.

Naw, they're not like us...

Another thought on vegetarianism: A professor at my bioethics center uses this cartoon to illustrate the rift between doctors and patients. It shows the rift between different species as well.

It's also funny.

People are animals, too.

I ate a lot of turkey over Thanksgiving. I wonder now if that turkey experienced any pain when it was killed. I wonder whether it left anything behind, perhaps a family, a lover, or say, a soulmate.

I went to the Bronx Zoo with my family this past weekend (see the photo), and somewhere near the bears, asked my grandpa for his take on vegetarianism. Eating animals, he said, was acceptable because that's what these animals were born and raised to be: meat. "But wait," I said, "what if I manufactured human beings for meat?"

"Right. Now that's an idea," he said, serious as he was sarcastic.

His reply makes some sense. It is, after all, why some people love their pets, even spending thousands on their pets' health care, but don't hesitate to roast a turkey. It's all about what the animal was created for, and how we view it vis-a-vis our own well-being.

If you're a vegetarian, kindly tell me why. I'm on the cusp. I denounce cruelty to animals, and what could be more cruel than killing them? By this reasoning, vegetarianism seems the way to go. But does that mean I should treat them as humans? Or spend thousands to cure them of cancer? Some people say that the problem isn't with eating animals at all, but rather with the mass production of meat. They say a can of beef is too far removed from the source of nourishment for us to appreciate the sacrifice. Generally, I agree, but I don't think that eating animals would be any less wrong if I were to slaughter the cow myself. It would moo and thrash its legs regardless.

For a breakdown of reasons, see Why You Should Consider Adopting a Vegetarian Diet. Here are their reasons: Eating meat (1) causes cruelty to the 27 billion animals killed in the U.S. each year. These animals suffer “neglect, mutilations, genetic manipulation, drug regimens," and of course, slaughter. It would be illegal to treat our pets the way we treat this food. In addition, a vegetarian can (2) avoid saturated fat and cholesterol, and thanks to vitamins, lose nothing. And why be evangelical about it? Because if more people were vegetarians, we could (3) maximize water usage (instead of sending half our water to animal agriculture), (4) solve world hunger by redirecting resources to crop production, and (5) reject the dangerous working conditions of slaughterhouse laborers.

But good reasons never convinced anybody. Progress, rather, comes from psychological turns. So, with thanks to my grandpa, I propose such a turn. The animal rights movement has long asserted that animals lead worthwhile lives. Hence the joke: "animals are people, too." But perhaps we should flip the saying to emphasize another form of similarity, lest we forget that in fact, "people are animals, too." Like animals, we lead fragmented and fragile lives, fighting off our predators and feasting on our prey. And if you're ever in doubt, head to the neighborhood McDonald's. Or, dare I say, to Iraq.

Animals are people, too.

From a conversation with a professor at my bioethics center:

"Doing anything tonight, Eli?"

"Nah, this place totally shuts down for Thanksgiving. Everyone's out of town. Well, I suppose I could go protest with the animal rights activists. They're always active this time of year." [Laughter.]

"A bunch of turkeys live by my house," said the professor. "You could run one over if you're not paying attention. They're pretty slow."

"So are newborns," I added.

Woops.