Katalepsis

I attended a fascinating lecture today by Loren Lomasky, professor of political philosophy, policy, and law at the University of Virginia. The talk was a sustained attack on arguments for vegetarianism. Besides being a top-notch philosopher, Lomasky was a consummate performer — quick-witted and hilarious.

Arguments for Vegetarianism

First, we can consider our reasons for abstaining from eating animals. There are several different styles of argument. First, is the argument from sentimentality or the “Bambi” argument. The idea is that the thought of killing animals makes us wince. We all love Porky Pig, but no one wants to see him packed up in sausage casings. Second, is an argument from spirituality. According to certain religions, harm to animals is considered a serious breach of duty.

The third style of argument is an application of the parity principle. If you look at the history of moral progress, much of it has come about due to an extension of pre-existing moral principles to ever expansive limits. For instance, at some point, we realize that slaves are “like us” in all morally relevant ways and then extend our own moral rights to them. The argument here is that animals are similarly “like us” and therefore deserve our respect. It should be noted that opponents of ethical vegetarian arguments will argue that this is a mis-application of the parity principle because there are relevant differences between ourselves and animals.

Fourth, he lumped together secondary justifications for vegetarianism — economic, ecological social justice, et cetera — because he wanted to explore the intrinsic rightness or wrongness of eating animals. In other words, these secondary arguments suggest that eating animals is not wrong in principle, but rather wrong because of the contingent nature of the world. One who believes that eating animals is wrong for these reasons does not have a reason to not eat meat per se. Rather, they have a reason to seek out meat raised in more responsible ways, in moderation, et cetera.

The primary justification, however, for not eating animals is the harm it causes the animals. At least this is Lomasky’s argument. This is a point that Lomasky concedes. Other things being equal, it is a harm to animals to kill them. At the moment of slaughter, it would be better for them to live than to die. If we’re going to justify the practice of eating animals, we’re going to have to address this “harm” argument.

Why Eat Animals?

On the other side of the fence, the arguments are not very plentiful. On the one hand, we can appeal to cultural practices and expert opinion. If we look at most cultures throughout the world, meat is considered the centerpiece of the meal. That’s certainly the case for the Western culinary tradition. Furthermore, there is a correlation between wealth and the practice of eating meat. The wealthier one is, the greater percentage it tends to form in one’s diet.

But those arguments aren’t convincing. The correlation doesn’t imply that we are doing the right thing by eating animals. Furthermore, all kinds of practices have been central to world cultures (e.g. slavery) that we don’t want to condone.

If you ask most people who eat meat why they eat meat, they’ll usually just answer that animals are delicious. They are yummy: that’s why we eat them.

Lomasky’s Positive Argument

Lomasky wants to offer a two-pronged approach to justifying the practice of eating meat.

1. The Flourishing Life: According to Lomasky, eating meat makes up part of the flourishing life for human beings. This concept of flourishing, borrowing from the Greek notion of eudaimonia, is a relatively foreign concept outside of ethics. But the essential idea here is that eating meat can be considered a vital part of one’s life — the pleasure of the flesh are not trivial, but essential. Of course, Lomasky isn’t making the claim that this is true for everyone. The claim is simply that eating meat can (and often does) make up part of the good life.
2. Dynamic versus Static Analysis: After he’s established why we might think it important to eat meat, Lomasky has to deal with the fact (which he has admitted that killing animals is a harm to the animals. If our desire to eat them is going to win out, it must outweigh this harm. To tackle this task, Lomasky urges us to adopt a dynamic analysis over a static one. The basic thought here is that we typically approach this topic with a static analysis: we ask ourselves, other things being equal, is it better for a currently-living animal to live rather than die. When we do this, the answer is clearly that it is worse for the animal to die.

   But other things aren’t equal according to Lomasky. Lomasky points out that the only reason that these animals are alive in the first place (certainly in the quantities that currently exist) is because we eat them. If we consider species preservation for animals that we don’t eat or use in some way, the record is terrible. In today’s environment, the only reason that buffalo (for example) are making a comeback is because we breed them now in order to eat them. Thus, to approach the issue dynamically is to ask the question in the following way: Is it better for us to breed animals, let them live for a while, and then eat them? Or is it better to refrain from eating them and let their survival rate plummet? Lomasky wants to argue that, on balance, the animal benefits more from its life and limited pleasures than is outweighed from its death. It’s better for the animal to have lived to be food than for it not to have lived at all.

Lomasky’s argument is very intriguing. I agree with his first prong, primarily because it is very humble. All it asks us to do is to admit that eating meat can make up an important part of one’s life in the same way that other activities may do (e.g. reading, exercise, singing, teaching, etc.). Of course, “not” eating meat can also make up an important part of a life. But just because a vegetarian can achieve a meaningful life without meat doesn’t mean that she ought to force her own values upon others.

The second horn of the argument is quite interesting and controversial. It’s hard to argue against the economic fact that the existence of many species depends upon their food value to us. What’s controversial is his claim that it’s better for a cow to have come into existence for a year or two (prior to slaughter) than for it not to have existed at all. Some people would claim that factory-farming animals is worse than non-existence. But what about organic farm practices? Is it so obvious in that case that it’s better for the cow never to have lived?

I often forget to consider this economic kind of argument. For instance, many people get upset at the practice of meat-eating because they consider it an inefficient use of resources. Just look at all that corn we’re growing to feed these cows when we could be feeding people with grain. The problem with this kind of argument, however, is that it is static (in Lomasky’s terminology). The only reason that we’re growing corn in enormous quantities in the first place is because there is a large demand for it to feed cows. If we got rid of that demand, it’s not like the corn growers would continue to grow their product out of the goodness of their hearts in order to feed the poor.

As for myself, I’ll continue to eat meat — but I’ll always be on the lookout for more humane cattle raising practices and vote with my dollars.

Those who know me well are well aware that I am a huge fan of the James Bond films. I own the Ultimate Edition set and have seen every film multiple times. I’ve wanted to read the novels for a while now, but never seem to have the time. I finally buckled down and requested two novels for Christmas: Casino Royale and Live and Let Die, the first two novels Fleming wrote.

It’s hard to shift from the films to the novels. First, you have to throw the chronology of the films right out the window. Since I associate Live and Let Die with the introduction of the ridiculous “Roger Moore” era and blaxploitation, it’s a bit hard to take the novel seriously. However, once I became accustomed to Fleming’s writing style and dated references, I found myself enjoying the character of James Bond quite a lot. The James Bond of the novels is quite different from the man Sean Connery immortalized on the big screen. He’s colder & more calculating…yet, at the same time, he’s flawed and emotionally weaker. I found myself picturing George Lazenby and Timothy Dalton in the title role. They’ve often been slammed for creating a “soft” Bond, but their portrayals seem to capture something about the character that is missing in Sean Connery’s depiction. And we don’t even need to drag either Roger Moore or Pierce Brosnan into the conversation, since they seem to utterly fail in capturing the essence of the character. And as for Daniel Craig, it’s too soon to tell. But I like what I see so far.

Of course, that isn’t to say that this sensitivity is always apparent. Bond very much has the sexist attitude that Connery embodies:

And then there was this pest of a girl. He sighed. Women were for recreation. On a job, they got in the way and fogged things up with sex and hurt feelings and all the emotional baggage they carried around. One had to look out for them and take care of them. (Casino Royale, 27)

Bond saw luck as a woman, to be softly wooed or brutally ravaged, never pandered to or pursued. (42)

These blithering women who thought they could do a man’s work. Why the hell couldn’t they stay at home and mind their pots and pans and stick to their frocks and gossip and leave men’s work to the men. (99)

And now he knew that she was profoundly, excitingly sensual, but that the conquest of her body, because of the central privacy in her, would each time have the sweet tang of rape….She would surrender herself avidly, he thought, and greedily enjoy all the intimacies of the bed without ever allowing herself to be possessed. (159)

But behind that rough exterior lies a man who distances himself from women in order to perform his job to the top of his abilities and to avoid any “weaknesses”:

One day, and he accepted the fact, he would be brought to his knees by love or by luck. When that happened he knew that he too would be branded with the deadly question-mark he recognized so often in others, the promise to pay before you have lost: the acceptance of fallibility. (42)

That day he would ask Vesper to marry him. He was quite certain. It was only a question of choosing the right moment. (164)

That’s the Bond embodied by George Lazenby and, even more so, by Timothy Dalton. It’s also this willingness to give oneself over, eventually, to love that seemed to define Daniel Craig’s performance in the film of the same name. I think this fragility, in the opening novel of the series, is critical to understanding the character who unfolds in the series to come. It is this first brush with love that changes Bond. He opens his heart, compromises the mission, and is let down — closing him off forever from genuine emotion. In Live and Let Die, the very next book of the series, we find him even more cold and detached:

Bond was careful to divulge very little of what he himself knew or guessed. His growing warmth towards Solitaire and his desire for her body were in a compartment which had no communicating door with his professional life. (113)

But again, Fleming’s character defies the cardboard, Stoic portrayal that many imagine must inhabit the novels. For we find Bond, once again, attached at the end of Live and Let Die and he contemplates humanely committing suicide to avoid the pain that Mr. Big has devised for him — being towed by a ship across a coral reef and being eaten alive by sharks and barracudas.

If they were still alive when the first shark’s fin showed on the surface behind them Bond had coldly decided to drown Solitaire. Drown her by twisting her body under his and holding her there. Then he would try and drown himself by twisting her dead body back over his to keep him under. (215)

In short, I’m enjoying the character of Bond very much and look forward to reading the rest of the novels.