Images and Animals
Most human beings eat animals without a second thought.
Pete Hannan thinks there is something wrong in this relationship.
If we consider the way in which we think and speak about the natural world and human culture, we find that our language is often highly symbolic: ‘mother’ nature, the ‘light’ of reason, and so on. Nature and culture are seen as opposites, and as being in conflict. Symbolic thinking is not necessarily a bad thing in itself: humans use symbols and metaphor to convey meaning quite as much as they use rational concepts. But what starts as symbolic thinking frequently turns into literal thinking, literal language, literal action; we need to review our symbolic thinking, as well as the process by which it leads to action, to check whether our symbolism is still beneficial or whether it is causing harm.
The conquest of nature has for some centuries now been a conscious aim of Western culture, from the harnessing of rivers, fossil fuels, and nuclear power for energy, to the clearing of the wildest areas for farming, habitation, and transport.
Until very recently, all this ‘conquering’ activity was carried out without any strong awareness that it might have harmful consequences; one could say that it was almost the duty of culture to tame, domesticate, and dominate nature.
Our growing awareness that our approach to the natural world does have harmful consequences should lead us to re-examine our basic attitude to our relationship with nature: is the current world-view preventing us from acting in a way which protects the natural world?
It seems to me that the mainstream Western tradition has painted us into a corner where we humans feel and see ourselves as alone in the world: the Christian, scientific, and other philosophical traditions have gradually erected strong, solid boundaries around the human species, stressing our uniqueness, our difference, and our separation from other animals — despite the now general acceptance of an evolutionary account of our origins.
This process has involved the denial to other animals of various characteristics which have been considered peculiarly human: language, reason, intelligence, emotions, moral sense, structured lives, and so on. This denial has a number of roots: ignorance of the real facts of animal life, the need to justify what humans do to other animals, and a misuse of symbolism, both the general nature-culture symbolism already mentioned and the specific use of many animals as symbols for human characteristics.
Until recently in Western Europe we knew very little about the actual lives of animals except those we domesticated or hunted: what was ‘known’ was derived from travelers’ tales and from fables and mediaeval bestiaries where stories of animals were consciously aimed at making ethical and religious points.
It is only in the last few decades that systematic observation has been undertaken of some species as they actually live in the wild (e.g. Jane Goodall’s life and work with the chimpanzees at Gombe in Tanzania, Ni Tinbergen’s study of herring gulls). Much of this information is now widely available 7mdash; in the West, at least, television wildlife programmes have done much present such information — and shows that the lives of animals are far more complex, structured, and interesting than, had been believed: we can start to recognize that different species, in different ways, have much in common with humans, and that appreciating the particular qualities of humans does not require us to insist on a hard and fast barrier between us and other animals.
With the domestication of some animals, and in particular with the rearing of animals for food, we have a strong incentive to come up with justifications: the raw facts of animal rearing and slaughter evoke in most people a spontaneous response of horror and pity. If, however, we are committed to eating meat, the product of the slaughter, we need ways to suppress or avoid this response, and there seem to be three options: to remain ignorant of the details (I can’t bear to see cruelty!
says someone, carefully avoiding the sight); to believe that this treatment is, despite appearances, right and proper (the main line from the Old Testament onwards); or to view animals as so stupid and insensitive that they don’t feel very much, and what they do feel can’t matter. In practice, most of us choose all three options.
The relationship between humans and domesticated animals is one of almost absolute power: the power over birth, death, and everything in between. The beliefs and images we hold about these animals are a product of this power relationship, and a good instance of basic Buddhist insight: that only when we are operating in the love mode (on the basis of metta), and not in the power mode, can we see ourselves and others clearly. The simple but radical way to see these animals clearly is to step out of our power relationship with them, that is, to give up as far as possible our dependence on them for food and other products.
Not only do we view domesticated animals in a poor light, but we also use them as symbols for human characteristics: pigs stand for ignorance or greed, chickens for cowardice, sheep for foolish obedience, and so on. Other animals too have become standard symbols: snakes for hatred, treachery, or sexuality; hawks for belligerence; lions for courage; gorillas for strength or ferocity; monkeys for mischievousness; sharks for rapacity; wolves for mercilessness.
Again, there is nothing necessarily language; but what seems to have happened is that, once a symbolic use of an animal is established in a culture, the quality which that animal symbolizes is applied back to the actual living animal.
For example, wolves: in legends and fairy tales, in adventure stories, and in describing people, wolves are predatory, merciless, cruel, hungry — always! They chase and eat people (literally or metaphorically); in our image world, this is what being a wolf amounts to. But this image of wolves also guides our attitudes when we encounter actual wolves, leading to exaggerated fear and a violent response. However, careful observation of wolves going about their daily lives has revealed a very different picture, of a structured, co-operative social life, with no more fierceness than is needed for a carnivore to live: for instance, while most of the pack is out hunting, one or two wolves stay behind to mind the cubs, and food is brought back for them; a lot of time is spent resting and playing; if two wolves get into a fight, it usually ends when one wolf submits, without much damage being done; and wolves rarely attack humans. It seems that humans blame wolves for being carnivorous, and project onto them the unbridled habit of killing, which is actually a trait peculiar to humans.
This process of projection, where we apply to the real living animals their symbolic meanings, maintains the polarity with which we started: nature becomes the wild, dangerous, inhospitable darkness inhabited by alien enemies; culture becomes the ordered, safe, homely light, the only place where we can find relatives and friends — but what if our experience of human society and culture does not match this expectation? We will then feel lonely indeed.
The alternative to such a bleak, isolating experience of our place in the world is not a vision of nature as a Garden of Eden, a paradise on Earth where all is peace. In the end, we must aim to see the natural world as it really is, undistorted by any limited world-view; but in the meantime perhaps a more useful view is this: nature is not territory to be conquered, but the community to which we belong; the natural world is our home (the only one we’ve got), it’s where we grew up, and we share this home with thousands of more or less distant relatives and friends, some of whom we might prefer to steer clear of, but all of whom are fascinating and contribute to the whole.
If we damage this home beyond repair, we will have no opportunity to develop our own potential; but (a point not so often considered) we will also destroy any chance for other animals to develop theirs — before we even know what it might be.