Showing posts with label animals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label animals. Show all posts

Friday, June 7, 2019

"Othering" and iTunes


Note: I've been reading The Mueller Report and have fallen behind on my blogging. Here's a "two-fer": 
 
"OTHER" AS A CONNECTING WORD

It's not just "'I' and 'the Other'" anymore; some places nowadays one can use "other" as a verb or "verbals": "to other" some group, or engage in "othering" them.

Okay, but a more old-fashioned "other" can be used to connect. My favorite since at least 1984 has been "alcohol and *other* drugs": putting ethyl alcohol back among the recreational drugs, reminding recreational drinkers of ethyl alcohol of their community with other drug users (and alcoholics of their community with other addicts), inviting The Straight People to test overly-broad assertions about "drugs" and "drug users" with their own experiences with, say, Chardonnay.

There's also "humans and *other* animals." We may be "the beauty of the world, / The paragon of animals," as asserted by Hamlet and HAIR, but we're still animals: in 20-Question terms of Animal/Vegetable/Mineral or fancier divisions of Earth's life into Archaea, Bacteria, Plants, and Animals <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archaea>. As animals capable of reason and even, apparently, consciousness, it's good to avoid cockiness and to keep our kin and kinships in mind.
 
 
==================================
 
I-TUNES (BY-GOD: *TUNES*)

On the MacBook Pro I use as a very expensive radio, I listened this morning to a recorded episode of NPR's discussion show _The 1A_ in what may technically be podcast format. The topic was the demise of Apple's iTunes and its replacement by three apps: Video (?), Music, Podcasts. At least until the last five minutes of the show, the word "podcast" occurred only once I can recall, and that was when they named the three replacement apps. At no time did they mention audiobooks (a word Spell-Check rejects).

Interesting given that the _1A_ audience skews old and that as recently as one of the Gulf Wars DOONESBURY could have a gag on US enlisted personnel listening to music while a playlist for their older officers was precisely audiobooks.

Do fish know they're in water? Do large numbers of people walking around in bubbles of their own tunes realize that some people who appear to be in similar microcosms are actually in semi-permeable membranes of words? (And will Apple think it worth their effort to include audiobooks in their instructions for "migrating" to the new apps?)

One bit of irony: The audiobook I'm currently listening to again — on my iPhone operating as a very expensive iPod — is Benedict Anderson's IMAGINED COMMUNITIES. I suspect there are ways in which Apple vs. PC and the various music communities have more reality than, say, The United States or The United Kingdom or the other national "imagined communities" that are at the heart of Anderson's book.
 

Monday, May 21, 2018

TODAY'S VOCABULARY WORD: "Animals"

What a piece of work is a man! 
How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! 
In form and moving how express and admirable! 
In action how like an angel, 
in apprehension how like a god! 
The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals. 
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? 

In the kids' game of Twenty Questions, the first identifier is "Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral," and the classification for human beings is "Animal." In a system out of the work of Carl Woese et al. of the U of IL — for more grownup games of taxonomy — living things with cells are Archaea, Bacteria, or Eukarya, with the Eukarya made up of Fungi, Plants, and Animals. If you're multicellular, with a pretty large and complex structure, don't do photosynthesis, and live on Earth, you're an animal.

In the old system of The Great Chain of Being, we're what Hamlet called "the paragon of animals" and the highest of animals, but still animal. Also, "a little lower than the gods," or "than the angels" in more recent usage: at the nodal point on the Great Chain between mere animals and divine beings. Homo duplex: flesh and spirit, perhaps a soul. Life-breath plus small "e" earth in one version of us in Genesis, or, again from Hamlet, "this quintessence of dust."

Deal with it.

Really ancient archaea and their bacterial relations have been around a whole lot longer than fancier species, and they may heft more biomass than we do today. There is a good chance they will succeed us as well and are the true dominant creatures in the history of Earth and its inheritors.

Animals we colloquial call "animals" — our mammalian or anyway vertebrate cousins — are what people often mean when they refer to other people as "brutes" or refer to with "brutal" — and maybe after that go down that ol' Great Chain and label other people "cockroaches" and such.

It's like us civilized folk calling low-tech people barbarians or savages or "barbarous savages."

Uh, huh.

Tigers have never practiced crucifixion, and savages didn't invent cluster munitions or nerve gas. Some ants are into analogies to slavery and genocide, but otherwise our brutal fellow critters are relatively well-behaved, relative to us, humans, who have been guilty of such necessarily civilized human behavior — acts by urbanized, literate high-tech folk — as fire-bombing cities.

Some of my favorite animals are people, and all my relatives; but we really must stop flattering ourselves. Hamlet's praise of our species — "in apprehension how like a god!" — should be pronounced only in the course of that bloody satiric tragedy, Hamlet, or sung amid the scattered bodies on another stage, for the climax of Hair.


Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Doctor-Assisted Suicide: Some Useful Clarifications (6 March 2013)

            On her National Public Radio show on 5 March 2013, Diane Rehm got into an exchange that helps clarify the issues with doctor-assisted suicide.

            Early in the show, Ms. Rehm talked with Krayton Kerns, who, uses his doctorate with his name and stresses it on his website, and thereby made himself fair game for a line of questioning that started with his being a practicing veterinarian, and a vet definitely willing to euthanize animals: "Oh yeah, without a doubt. We do it all the time."

            Krayton Kerns, DVM, is relevant to discussing doctor-assisted suicide with humans because he is also the Honorable Krayton Kerns, Representative in the Montana Legislature for House District 58, and Rep. Kerns recently pushed through the Montana House of Representatives a bill that could — if approved by the Montana Senate and signed by the Governor — impose on any Montana physician assisting in a suicide (1) a fine of up to fifty thousand dollars and/or (2) ten years in jail.

            In response to Dr. Kerns's robust reply on his professional willingness to put down animals, Rehm asked, "And how do you see the treatment, the care and treatment of those animals as being different from the treatment of humans who wish to die?" Kerns responded that the situation with animals is "entirely different." He explained, "Number one, they can't give their consent […]." Since the non-human animals' lack of choice here seemed to work against Kerns's position, Rehm pushed the point, and Kerns replied that "The animal has no choice. That would be correct. And the human being does have the choice. Yeah, I think that would be a correct assessment."

            Rehm pushed on: humans have choice and what "if the human being says, I choose to die" and adds, "I really am asking you, my doctor, to assist me in dying" — how would Kerns "regard that as different"?

            Kerns's immediate answer was rambling but instructive: "Well, you're also asking the doctor to go against their oath above all, do no harm, and […] they're no longer an agent of healing. You know, it's a different circumstance then. And this also gets discombobulated as this nation degrades into a single-party payer health care system where everything is controlled by the government. And then we have a very frightening situation where the government controls the diagnostic end of your disorder, the treatment end of your disorder. And due to the power of the inheritance tax, it is to their advantage for you to select suicide as early as possible before you exhaust your resources."

            To help clarity — clarification is my goal here — Kerns raises the important points of (1) the possibility of harming someone by failing to act, (2) money, and, crucially, (3) of control: who gets to decide what.

            Like a good teacher or most excellent interviewer, Rehm prompts Kerns with "But suppose I am really suffering from something as debilitating as, say, Parkinson's disease or ALS or an invasive cancer that is bringing me so much pain and suffering that I no longer wish to live and wish to die in as humane a fashion as I would treat my dog." And then we get to the heart of the matter.

            "Well, of course, Kerns responds, "I view it as you're interfering with a decision that is not yours to make, it's God's. He'll take your life when it is time. And until that time, it's your obligation to press on and make the best that you can with what you have available."

            Rehm moves from a prompt to a bit of a goad, though pronounced without sarcasm: "So as a veterinarian, you bring in the religious element." Kerns says, "Well, I don't because I don't think it plays in in the veterinarian end because we're dealing with the animal and not a human life."

            On his website (www.KraytonKerns.org), Kerns handles the abortion issue succinctly: "*Abortion:  I am a Christian.  I am Pro-Life." And we can use this assertion to make clear that Kerns has a coherent position, an important position, and a position pretty radically opposed to those held by people likely to read anything by a commie-liberal-pinko-pretty-secular-humanist-registered-Democrat like me.

            I've got $50 to bet that by "Christian" Kerns means something like the student of mine meant when he said, "I used to be Catholic, but now I'm Christian" — but I'll just put it that what Kerns says makes sense in terms of a "Bible Christian" for whom Adam — Man — became a living being when he received the breath of life from God (Genesis 2.7), someone who believes that when we say "choose life" it means choose a life following God. Or, as God puts it, "[…] I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse; therefore choose life, that you and your descendants may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying his voice, and cleaving to him; for that means life to you and length of days […]" (Deuteronomy 30.19-20).

            Human beings live and have choice and free will because we have within us a special life-breath, one different from non-human animals: a direct-from-God kind of ruach, anima, spiritus: words that (roughly speaking) evolved from "wind, breath" to more or less "spirit," and then to soul.

         Kerns can kill dogs and cats and all without qualm if not literally "all the time" but objects to even suicide by humans because with a dog "we're dealing with the animal and not a human life," not a real life, not the life of a creature ensouled.

            One of the reasons he can so readily kill non-human animals is precisely because they have no choice in the matter and are innocent in their deaths and in all else. Humans should be prohibited from killing ourselves precisely because we have free will as a gift from God and have souls from God and damn well better be willing to put up with any shit God sends us. Or else.

            And that's "or else" you will be damned to eternal Hell, you and, in this case, the physician you rode in on: indeed all those risk damnation who aided you in succumbing to the unforgiveable sin of despair.
            God has set before us life and death, but we don't — in the traditional Christian view — we don't get to choose death in the sense of suicide because that is "a decision that is not yours to make, it's God's. He'll take your life when it is time. And until that time, it's your obligation to press on […]," even if doing so subjects you to misery we would not inflict on a gerbil.

            Indeed, you're to "press on" even if it bankrupts your family, and definitely without getting advice that you'd do better to shuffle off this mortal coil before you and the other codgers bankrupt a single-payer health system.

            I'm serious about the family bit, and about money. However much Christianity — definitely here including Catholics and Orthodox and all the traditional Church — however much the churches have long been big on the family, you do have the musical injunction from Martin Luther, "Let goods and kindred go"; and Jesus was emphatic that "[…] he who loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me" and enjoined his followers, "Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth" (Matthew 10.37, 7.19). Nor for the kids.

            God gave you the breath of life and freedom and the promise of eternal life. Immortal God put on flesh and became human — Yuck! — and was tortured to death willingly for your sins, so you, you ingrate, can bloody well die miserably and bankrupt your kids and help bring down the economy rather than disobey a jot or a tittle of God's word which, traditionally (uh, actually, without a whole lot of scriptural warrant) says man up, press on, and die a lingering death if that's what God wants for you and from you.

            That may not be what mere mortal reason and compassion says — see Saint Thomas More's rational but non-Christian Utopians on the matter — but that's why we have Revelation to supplement, and sometimes over-rule, mere mortal reason (and occasionally compassion).

            Personally, when "It's time," as the vets say, I want to be put down like a dog. Or, since my dog was killed by a train and that would be hard to arrange — more exactly, I'd like to be put down like my cat Lilith, who died in my arms Christmas Eve a while back, from lethal injection.

            Still, there are reasons to carefully hedge assisted suicide. We do want to ensure that the family doesn't send grandpa off to the needle the first time he breaks a hip or that a fascist State doesn't start a program in racial hygiene by slaughtering the infirm. More immediately relevant here, secular sorts must understand that Representative Krayton Kerns has a coherent code behind him and one agreed to more quietly by a lot of people.

            The question is control. Mr. Kerns doesn't want the US Federal Government to be the single-payer for health care; a lot of us don't want Mr. Kerns and Church or State in any of their forms getting too coercively involved with what we do with our bodies.

Remembrance of Horrors Past (18 May 2013)

         I'm going to start sidling toward my topic with bragging about a relative of mine you probably have never heard of. My cousin (of some degree) Joy Erlichman Miller organized the Holocaust memorial in Peoria, Illinois, and tried to make the body-count more understandable by collecting buttons: eleven million of them. The strategy of collecting buttons is brilliant, and, more to the point I'm slowly moving toward, the number is correct. Humans aren't wired to understand deaths in even the thousands, but the sight of millions of buttons can aid our imaginations. More, having kids collect everyday items like buttons is a good way to get them to relate to the extraordinary human costs of slaughters such as the Nazi Holocaust.

         The number, though, may also be unfamiliar to you. The Peoria committee used the figure of approximately eleven million murders, and they were wise to do so: both truthful to the best estimates, and politically prudent. Some five to six millions Jews were murdered in the Nazi extermination programs, plus some five to six million Roma ("Gypsies"), Communists, homosexuals, unionists, and other "inferiors," or real or imagined enemies of the Reich. That adds up to eleven million people, approximately, not the more frequently heard figure of six millions. Some six million Jews died, and even if the actual figure is "only" five million, it is a number to remember in itself and is central to the exterminations: "The Final Solution of the Jewish Problem" was the impetus for large-scale, systematic, routinized massacres. Still, if the Shoah is uniquely Jewish and unique in more than just the technical sense applicable to all historical events — if it's literally and absolutely unique, "sui generis," one of a kind — then the Shoah is of only limited usefulness for historical understanding: There aren't many lessons to be learned from a literally unique event. If it is "The Holocaust," and that is that, there is little to be learned beyond "Sh*t can really happen to the Jews." Using the eleven million figure teaches that once a program of genocide gets started, all sorts of people can be sucked in and destroyed. And that point is crucial; if the Shoah just happened to Jews, there's no reason non-Jews today should do much more than sympathize. Fitting the Hitlerian Holocaust into a larger pattern of massacres, as Hannah Arendt does in detail in Origin of Totalitarianism, makes it historically and politically relevant for many people, and aids building "Never Again" coalitions.

         Outside of the Peoria Holocaust Memorial and the reference to my cousin Joy, I expect most of what I've just said will be familiar and, with most folk who read a column by a Left-leaning Jew, unexceptional. It's also stuff I've said before (I did once teach a course titled "Massacres").

         What's been getting to me lately is watching the last few episodes of the first season of The Borgias, listening a couple times each to Neal Stephenson's BAROQUE CYCLE books and to Steven Pinker's The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined — even going so far as to buy a Pinker's book in paperback — plus reading and consulting hard-cover hard copy of Matthew White's The Great Big Book of Horrible Things: The Definitive Chronicle of History's 100 Worst Atrocities.

         As The Borgias first season moved toward a final tableaux celebrating traditional family values, Renaissance aristocratic Machiavellian style, we meet Paulo, a definitely non-aristocratic stable hand, who's a nice kid who gets involved with abused-wife Lucrezia Borgia, eventually aiding Lucrezia neutralize for a while her brutish warlord husband, and becoming Lucrezia's lover. Significantly here, even in the more innocent stages of Paolo's involvement with Lucrezia, he worries aloud about getting whipped, and by season's end we see and hear him whipped by his lord and get good indications that he was probably hanged shortly thereafter.

           [CORRECTION (and SPOILER): Paolo was spared as it turned out, to be hanged instructively in the following season.]

Servants ca. 1500 were whipped, and the servants of an ignoble nobleman might indeed find themselves hanged for offenses less serious than conspiracy to cripple and cuckold their masters.

         And not just servants had to fear the whip: soldier and (notoriously) sailors, and to a lesser degree wives and children and, moving toward but not very far into the Enlightenment, lunatics in places like London's Bedlam Hospital. One can argue that it's not entirely progress that we beat children and the insane much less nowadays and drug them more; one can argue that the "smother love" and constant surveillance and supervision of privileged children isn't 100% superior to benign neglect with occasional brutality — but, come on! As Steven Pinker insists, in these areas we've made serious progress.

         What such historical and history-based works as The Borgias and Better Angels make clear is that things have trended toward less violence over human recorded history. Reading them while thinking of what White calls the 20th-c. "hemoclysm" — i.e., blood deluge, the warfare and atrocities 1914-1945 — one might conclude however, and fear, that the trend is indeed toward a decrease of violence but there can be perverse and sudden "regressions to the norm" (sic) — returns of barbarism — that can produce immense suffering.

         Two points from such cogitations and my occasional fearful twitchings.

         First, Stephenson's BAROQUE CYCLE covers, more or less, the period from the execution of Charles I of England in 1649 to the beginning of the Hanover dynasty in 1714. Stephenson is very clear that the worst of the human social pathologies he deals with was slavery, continuing in the East and, during this period, increasing in the Americas — and with increasing British involvement. White estimates the suffering in deaths alone of the slave trade alone at 18.5 million for the Mideast slave trade from the 7th through the 19th centuries, and some sixteen million for the Atlantic slave trade, 1452-1807. (The two slave trades rank at #8 and #10 of White's ranking of our species' "One Hundred Deadliest Multicides," edging out, for instructive examples, the Conquest of the Americas and First World War, both coming in at 15 million deaths.)

         It is clear, however, that state-sanctioned and enforced slavery was the extreme of a continuum of cruelty, or, changing the image, an extreme area on a web of cruelty that permeated everyday life. Even as Jews should put the Shoah into it a larger context of massacres, African-Americans should put American chattel slavery onto that continuum, or at the center of a figurative web of oppression, exploitation, and cruelty.

         People can argue, and I do so, that racism developed in part to allow continued cruelty to Black people (and, later, Jews and Slavs and Roma) after it became increasingly unfashionable — war excepted — for Moderns to be cruel to people seen as people and even bad form to brutalize sympathetic nonhuman animals.

         Pinker talks of "The Humanitarian Revolution" (ch. 4) that slowly came in with the Modern Era and the Enlightenment, increasing humanitarianism that included, eventually, the elimination of slavery. While slavery continued and was profitable, however, it needed justification, and it is no coincidence that racism came along to provide that justification: it was becoming increasingly "unacceptable," as we so weakly say — Not Done — to grossly abuse people (again, war-time enemies excluded); a theory was necessary that made Blacks less than people, and that theory was racism.

         We need to be clear on "racism": that's an "-ism," an ideology, a theory, and one with a history. Bigotry is more or less natural to humans: a subset of the nastier parts of the "amity/enmity complex" to use Robert Ardrey's formulation; or "Let 'em all go to hell, / Except Cave Sev-enty-six!" in the formulation of Mel Brook's 2000-Year-Old Man. For seeing the difference between bigotry and racism, and for dating racism in England, note Thomas Rymer's argument against "Othello: A Bloody Farce" in his Short View of Tragedy (1693, ch. VII; reprinted in Frank Kermode's Four Centuries of Shakespearian Criticism [1974: 461-69]). In Othello, Shakespeare shows ample bigotry against the Moor: that "old black ram," "the thick lips." The bigotry, however, is within the world of the play. Rymer laments that the play remained highly popular with English audiences into his time in the late 17th century — popular in spite what Rymer saw as its gross errors and absurdities. To start, Othello is not a properly Neoclassic play, but along with that error — Rymer was a militant neoclassicist — and relating to it, it's hero just isn't, well, appropriate. In Othello, Othello is a general of the armies of Venice and, apparently, one of the great military leaders of Christian Europe. Rymer allows that the Venetian Republic hired foreign mercenaries for their armies,

But shall a Poet thence fancy that they will set a Negro to be their General; or trust a Moor to defend them against the Turk? With us a Black-amoor might rise to be a Trumpeter; but Shakespear would not have him less than a Lieutenant-General. With us a Moor might marry some little drab [= a whore], or Small-coal Wench: Shake-spear, would provide him the Daughter and Heir of some great Lord, or Privy-Councellor [Othello' elopes with the daughter of a senator]: And all the Town should reckon it a very suitable match. […] Nothing is more odious in Nature than an improbable lye [=lie]; And, certainly, never was any Play fraught, like this of Othello, with improbabilities. (Kermode volume, page 462).

There was bigotry aplenty in Shakespeare's real-world England, from prejudice against to loathing of foreigners and others, but not enough animosity against Blacks to keep English audiences from sympathizing with "black Othello"; by the time we get to Rymer, something has changed.

         That "Humanitarian Revolution" was getting started, and for screamingly obvious commercial reasons Blacks from Africa, for the consciences of many people, had to be excluded for the circle of humanity. There was a great deal of money to be made from the slave trade and from the stolen labor of slaves to produce high-profit commodities like tobacco, sugar, and rum. If we allow sugar as a "food-drug" — and no less an authority than Sidney W. Mintz says we should do so — then the institution of Black chattel slavery in the New World came about in large part because there was a lot of money to be made then, as now, pushing drugs (Sweetness and Power: The Place of Sugar in Modern History, 1985).

         And, of course, before the more northern European competition got into the tobacco, sugar, and rum rackets, New World enslavement of Indians and, later, Blacks had served a lust for lucre more directly in Spanish America in the mining of gold and silver.

         Most of our European ancestors most of the time dealt with horrors like the slave trade the way we Americans today deal with exploited labor in, say, the manufacturing of our clothing: they ignored it. I don't ask about how I can order on line sweatpants for six bucks a pair; if you had high-flown English ancestors ca. 1692, they didn't ask too many questions about the sugar in their coffee or hot chocolate (or, for that matter, ask inconvenient questions about the coffee or chocolate).

         More important, though — and, finally, my point here — is the one stressed by Steven Pinker: how much cruelty for how long was not actively ignored but seen casually and just accepted as part of the "warp and woof," deeply woven into, the web of everyday life.

         "The wogs begin at Callus," as the stereotypical racist Colonel Blimp's of Great Britain used to say: i.e., the range of the inferior peoples of the Earth began as soon as one crossed the English (by God!) Channel and disembarked at the carefully mispronounced French port of Calais. That attitude, however — hell, racism for some of them! — was progress: for most high-born English for most of their history, inferiors started a whole lot closer to home than France, including in one's home with one's servants or (if male) wife and (for both parents) children. One could feel downright righteous birching one's kids bloody, to beat hell and the devil out of them; and, of course, even the lower orders could watch for entertainment the torture of animals — bear-baiting, bull baiting, ratting — or condemned criminals (if you couldn't afford to pay off the hangman for a longish drop, "hang by the neck until dead" could take a long time).

         So Black African slavery was horrific, but its horrors were tolerated as long as they were not only because of racism but also because of a general casualness about cruelty.

         If we are to be serious and effective about "Never Again," Jews should remind all and sundry that the Hitlerian Holocaust was emphatically not limited to Jews and fits into a larger tradition of massacres: far from unique, the Shoah is an instructive extreme on a continuum of atrocities. American Blacks and Africans should remind people that the Atlantic slave trade was part of a long tradition of murderous exploitation of Africans and others: including at one time the enslavement of just about anyone who could be taken prisoner in war or stolen.

         Americans who hear of atrocities and say, "It can't happen here" forget that chattel slavery, for one very big thing, did happen here, until 1865, as did the terrorism of the Ku Klux Klan into my lifetime. And this is not frightening so much because we Americans are particularly evil but because we are well within the normal range of humanity. As Stephenson, Pinker, White, and the makers of The Borgias make clear, routine, banal, horrible cruelty is part of the repertoire of human behavior.
         So is the capacity for good, those "Better Angels of Our Nature." If Pinker is right, those Better Angels, our inclinations to the good, have been trending upward since the Bronze Age; as the reintroduction of slavery in the Early Modern period indicates and the 20th-c. hemoclysm drives home; the tendency is far from inevitable. Indeed, often it's just "Sh*t happens"; but far too often "sh*t" is done to all sorts of people, and emphatically not just Jews and Blacks. So, to repeat a useful cliché, following Pinker: Let us be hopeful, but also ready to aid the exploited, oppressed, and abused not just out of decency, but because, always, any of us can be on the list — and for most of human history, most people were.

Abortion Rant, Early Summer 2013 (30 June 2013)

            All right, class; let us review one more time.

            To My Liberal Allies: We are humanitarians. Conservatives are supposed to join us in humanitarian concerns, opposing me-first individualism and stressing people's connections with society and the world, but they haven't been too good at that for the last century and a half or so, so it's up to us. So, liberals, listen up.

            In The Better Angels of Our Nature (2011), Steven Pinker usefully reminds us of key points by the two rather different philosophers, Peter Singer and Jeremy Bentham. Pinker tells us that in The Expanding Circle, Singer argues "that over the course of history, people have enlarged the range of beings whose interests they value as their own" (Angels 175) — and liberals should see this trend as a very good thing and work to reinforce that expanded circle and, in places, expand it further. In 1789, Bentham clarified a crucial point for, if not animal rights, at least human responsibility regarding sentient life: "The question is not Can they reason? nor Can they talk? but, Can they suffer?" (Angels 148).

            So, liberals: Given that we humans do privilege humans, and probably should, we want a broad, and, ahem, liberal definition of "human." Given the often-horrible history of people restricting "human" to "people like us," we need to resist strongly the habit of exclusion. Mel Brooks's 2000-Year-Old Man is a serious nut job, and the seriousness includes his rendition of The First National Anthem as "Let 'em all go to hell / Except Cave 76!" And we have a humanitarian duty to protect as much as possible all sentient creatures from unnecessary suffering.

            Okay?

            That does not mean that we back down on abortion rights, but it does mean that we recognize that some place in a pregnancy we get a being close enough to human to deserve some of the rights of human personhood, and that some place in a pregnancy we get a being that may be capable of suffering and deserves protection from unnecessary suffering.

            Some place during a woman's pregnancy, she carries a being we should include in "the expanding circle" and whose concerns deserve attention along with those of the mother.

            There are practical implications there, which I will get to in my turn to conservatives.

            To Conservatives Who've Gotten This Far: A consistent liberal position would be that abortion should be safe, legal, and rare, and as early in the pregnancy as possible. In your resistance to abortion, you're moving it intentionally toward illegal but also — I hope inadvertently — also toward less safe and later in the period of gestation. There is indeed "always a death in an abortion," and you're moving that which gets killed closer to a human person, closer to a sentient being capable of suffering in that death. And some of you folk, in resisting birth control, are making abortion less rare.

            Now I assume most readers know enough biology and theology to know that "Life begins at conception" is just a stupid statement: yet again, life doesn't begin; it began. According to the Book of Genesis, it began not long after God created the heavens and the earth a good deal back: Happy new year 5773 for the Jewish count; Christians have the world a bit older, so let's round off to 6000 years. The scientific estimate we can round off to 3.5 billion years — and it doesn't matter; it's past tense "life began" and a long time ago. So since most people aren't stupid, what they mean is "Human life begins with a human conception" and you're defining "human" essentially (and I mean "essentially" in terms of essence here) as a human soul.

            If you have ensoulment at the moment of conception, you have a human life in a zygote, embryo, or fetus, and killing it is murder, and, in some theories, worse than murder. In some theories, that little human — even when microscopic — is not only an unborn baby but also an unbaptized baby. And the fate of unbaptized babes? That once-famous Puritan minister and poet, Michael Wigglesworth, has God address dead infants, who "never had or good or bad / Effected personally," but still inherited Original Sin (Day of Doom, lines 233-40, 354-57).


               A crime it is, therefore in bliss
               You may not hope to dwell
               But unto you I shall allow
               The easiest room in hell.”

        Alternatively, one may argue that unbaptized infants (fetuses, embryos) are unsaved because they had no chance not just to be born but to be reborn, in Christ. One may argue, and the Anabaptists and Baptists do argue, that infant baptism won't bring salvation, but only baptism for professing believers who have been saved by the irresistible grace of God. The upshot on abortion can be the same whatever one believes about baptism, but readers whose eyes are glazing over about now may be on to an important point here.

            American culture is, indeed, largely a product of Christendom. I'm a Jewish American, and I'm reminded of American Christianity every time I deal with, say, the Battle of Marathon, 490 years BC: Before Christ; or the Battle of Agincourt in that Year of the/our Lord (Anno Domini) 1415. After much ado and with much inconsistency, we Americans have decided, though, mostly, to separate that Christian-inflected culture from State decisions. A strong reason for doing so is that when Church and State got together in the early modern period, one of the first things they did was burn at the stake Anabaptists or early Baptists or anyone else sending infant souls to Hell by discouraging infant baptism.

            There are coherent and elegant arguments to be made against abortion and against contraception and against any form of sex that doesn't lead to reproduction. But nowadays those are religious arguments: after some time in the 20th century, when the human population hit three billion — and certainly nowadays at seven billion and counting — secular arguments in favor of "Be fruitful and multiply" lost their power. Hell, from a religious point of view it's been maybe the one commandment human beings generally have fulfilled. And applying religious rules gets really dangerous in a country not only into sex but with almost equal enthusiasm into sects.

            Social conservatives can talk about our being "a Christian nation" or even "a Judeo-Christian nation" or someday maybe even "an Abrahamic nation" and bring in Islam; but they can do so only if they don't get into the bloody — and historically it's been very bloody — details of which Christianity (etc.).

            And liberals, here's where I need your attention again, especially liberals with an interest in religion.

            If there's wide appeal for making abortion safe, legal, early, and rare, the question is what the objections to that would be, and the major one as a practical political matter is that the means to that goal go against the law of God. Offering contraception and back-up abortion is going to tempt people to sin, and that is really bad: In the Eden story, God is more pissed off at the tempting Serpent than with Adam and Eve.

            There are secular arguments to be made against encouraging nonmarital sex, but those are answerable by pointing to European places doing quite nicely with readily-available contraception and relaxed attitudes toward sex as recreation. Indeed, sex can be dangerous, but anything worth doing is worth taking some risks to do, and sex — secularly viewed, taking commonsense precautions — is usually safer than sky-diving or skiing.

            The key arguments against contraception and nonreproductive sex are religious, and I think liberals (et al.) need to confront the issue directly. Try this: any God who would damn unbaptized babies, any God who would send kids to Hell for masturbation or anal intercourse or fornication or giving or receiving fellatio — isn't worthy of worship.

            So, if you've gotten this far, let us get specific on what is to be done. I say the ethical imperative now in the USA is abortion clinics numerous enough and handy enough for early abortions, and strong social action to make abortion acceptable only in an emergency. That implies "Plan B" availability, preventing that "emergency." An effective program also means coming down hard on US and international pharmaceutical firms to work on contraception for men and, simultaneously, for now, putting strong pressure on men and boys to use condoms.

            Such popular culture staples as pornography can be of use here, but more important might be the law. Whether or not to remain pregnant after discovering a pregnancy is the decision of the girl or woman. DNA testing can be used to identify fathers, and fathers can be — and shall be if this argument succeeds — compelled to help pay to raise their offspring, by their indentured labor if they can't find a job. So it's a man's right and duty to control his reproduction, which for now means vasectomy or, if you don't want the responsibilities of fatherhood but do want the option later on — then for now use a condom. (And, of course, more frequent condom use is also a good idea for public health)


            So, liberals: Understand that conservatives have legitimate concerns here and that religious people have the most serious of concerns — issues of salvation. Realize that conservatives have legitimate complaints about the coarsening of our culture through, centrally, oversexualization, exhibitionism, and plain tackiness. Liberals and conservatives: Work to make all abortions after the first trimester very rare and a serious medical matter. And conservatives, sorry, but that means you're going to just let some of us go to hell — although you can insist, and occasionally enforce by law, that we do so with minimal annoyance to the neighbors. 

Monday, March 23, 2015

Flies: Watch Out for Honey / Consumers: Watch Out for Deals


"You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."
— Poor Richard's Almanac (traditional)


 
         On the web on 27 August 2011, someone posting as "Jeremy" noted "that you actually attract more fruit flies with vinegar than honey, because the acetic acid in vinegar makes them think they sense fruit," but he (?) was good enough to note also that even if that bit of natural history is true, the proverb is still that you can deal more effectively with people if you are sweet to them than if you are sharp and biting. The upshot of the saying is the same as that of Aesop's fable of the Sun vs. the North Wind (Boreas), competing to get a man to take off his cloak. The more and harder Boreas blows, the tighter the man wraps his cloak; when the sun shines bright and hot, the man, of course, removes it.

         From the man's point of view, however, either way he's ultimately doing what some minor deity wants him to do, even if in basking in the sunshine he's doing what he immediately wants to do. But let's move to the point of view of the flies.

         I'm not old enough to have ever seen people try to kill flies by putting out honey or vinegar, nor even old enough to remember flypaper. I do, though, remember fly ribbon, also called fly capture tape: "a fly-killing device made of paper coated with a sweetly fragrant, but extremely sticky and sometimes poisonous substance that traps flies and other flying insects when they land upon it. "

         You can spray insecticide and kill flies efficiently (until they mutate and you get immune populations), and you can try to smash flies with newspapers. It's arguably more effective, if esthetically pretty nasty, to capture and poison, or capture and starve to death, flies with sweet sticky stuff.

         I have been thinking about such things because I have a "Rewards!" coupon from Office Depot that expires shortly, one for $24.48, and I will almost undoubtedly go to Office Depot and cash it in and buy computer printing cartridges I don't really need yet.

         And there's a fair chance that while in the store I'll see something I don't need at all but will come to want and will buy.

         That is, of course, the whole idea. If coupons really got customers to spend less money, companies wouldn't give them out.

         Like most people, I prefer to be warmed by the sun on a mild day rather than be blasted by the North Wind. Like most people, more relevantly, I prefer to be bribed rather than coerced.

         Still, I don't like to be manipulated, and I am quite certain that the bribe from Office Depot — or the Kroger Corporation or Bed, Bath, and Beyond — will end up costing me one way or another, even if, to my surprise, the coupons and other deals end up saving me money.

         'Cause unless you're Scrooge McDuck and get your kicks rolling around in money, money itself isn't your goal. What we want are the things money can buy, and for me, one of the major things money buys is some of my freedom and sense of control.

         Mainly, money buys freedom from money worries that are endemic to most strata of capitalist society. Having modest but secure income, and being careful with my money — not cheap but definitely tight — I've been able to live most of my life not having to worry much about not having money. I also haven't had to worry about just how to invest and conserve my fortune since having a modest but secure income I didn't have enough money to invest and conserve.

         It has made little sense, and continues to make little sense, for me to sacrifice any of my time to money issues to save a few bucks.

         Ah, but that $24.48 coupon is a temptation. Cheap people don't want to spend money; we tightwads will spend, but we get very upset if we waste money, and some place buried deep in my brain, probably just north of the limbic system, there's a small set of over-trained ganglia convinced that not cashing in a coupon for $24.48 is wasting $24.48 and — and those brain cells are sending out the neurological equivalent of "The horror! The horror!"

         I finally gave in to the Kroger Corporation, so I have a Ralphs card — Kroger's in the West is Ralphs — and also a card from Von's, another grocery chain; grocery stores make you an offer very difficult to refuse: you either allow them to track your purchases or you pay significantly more for their products. Freedom is valuable to me, but not paying $4 extra per pound of shrimp, which was the bit of extortion that got me to finally give in and get the card.

         I have done this much however, especially since shopping at a supermarket has become a rat-running exercise in figuring out a maze, as the rat: I make a shopping list of basics and try to buy the same basics every time, with only minor variations. So KrogerCorp can track my purchases, but the data, I hope, will bore even a computer program.

         "You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar" and, all things considered it's better to be bribed than coerced. Still, with all the PR people, advertisers, politicians, and propagandists trying to get our votes and our money and our "hearts and minds" — I'd just as soon do without both for. Or, if I had to choose, I think I might prefer an outright threat (if nonviolent) to a bribe.

         On the other hand, I pass Office Depot fairly regularly, and $24.48 is almost twenty-five dollars ….

Mammal Meat and Octopus (12 Jan. 2014)

            As I will make clear to anyone who will give me a chance, I strongly reject the idea that "All life is sacred" in large part because if that is the case, I'm a mostly unrepentant serial mass murderer: When I was in college, I worked summer lab jobs that included sterilizations of surfaces, instruments, used sputum bottles (testing for tuberculosis), and, most relevantly, of petri dishes loaded up with whole colonies of bacteria.  Billions and billions of living organisms — and I killed them routinely, five days a week. What I mention less frequently is that in the course of my studies and work I also killed a frog or two, two rabbits, one cat, a number of dogs, and a significant number of lab rats. I also used to fish with my father.

            I make no apologies for the bacteria nor for the fish (which my family ate) but rather regret the frog or frogs, and feel guilty about the mammals, especially one dog I failed to kill humanely — but that's a story in itself and for elsewhere. In any event, I've had to think about where to draw ethical lines about killing, possibly more than people who haven't "whacked" rats very literally: for some experiments we couldn't overdose the rats on Nembutal or whatever but had to use what we came to call "shock sacrifice," which translates smashing them across the back of the head with an iron bar or pipe wrench.

            I finally decided that I'd draw the line with the routine killing of mammals and would neither do it myself nor have the killing done in my name except in extraordinary circumstances. So I captured, took back outside, and released a field mouse who'd come into my apartment and danced a little number on my chest while I slept; but I had killed — the euphemism is "euthanized" — two cats who would have otherwise died in pain, and I will use traps, poison, or an exterminator to kill non-lab rats if they infest my home.

            I will not, however, eat mammal meat. Fish yes, chicken oh yes, and definitely nonkosher invertebrates with the exception of octopuses. My sister and I got invited "back stage," so to speak, at a major aquarium (Monterey, CA, probably) and got to see an ill but recovering octopus that kept picking the locks on its containment vessels. As far as the staff could figure out, the octopus was getting bored in its aquatic isolation cage and entertained itself with the locks and moving next door and, it sometimes seemed to the staff, watching their reactions.

            Mammals are cousins of us humans, and any animal — whether with or without a backbone — that gets bored, picks locks, and just possibly gets a kick out of pissing off its jailers is too smart to (casually) eat.

            Two things here for readers who don't routinely kill their fellow critters above the size and complexity of, say, cockroaches.

            First, think carefully when you hear bullshit about academics always and necessarily "living in ivory towers." Indeed, academics usually have clean fingernails in our work — that was one of my career goals given other jobs I had before teaching — but in some fields there may be blood under those nails: less nowadays with computer modeling, which is a good thing, but maybe more than, say, with accountants or advertisers or construction workers (though far less blood than people serving you by working in slaughterhouses).

            Second, there are reasons one might avoid mammal meat, or even go vegetarian, that apply to people with no dead dogs or rats upon your consciences.

            Contemporary raising of mammals for slaughter and consumption is frequently cruel, and irresponsible in terms of worldwide nutrition and public health, and in terms of the environment. (Raising poultry and farming fish are also problematic, but I'm talking here of drawing lines, and I respect the decisions of vegetarians and vegans, but drew mine more selfishly.)

            It takes a lot of resources to raise a steer or pig or lamb for food, starting with land to raise them on humanely. Raising them industrially takes less land, but it may require grain — "corn-fed beef" is from cattle fed corn that might've fed people — and definitely requires water and crowding, and crowding itself is an issue.

            Even herd animals need a bit of space between bodies — although humans have selectively bred sheep and reindeer to be neurotically into bunching up — and, more important for humans, if you put a lot of mammals in a small space you risk epidemics among them. And how to prevent such epidemics, and get the animals to put on weight faster and so move them more profitably to market? Antibiotic prophylaxis. I.e., you fill 'em up and/or shoot 'em up with antibiotics, with the inevitable result of breeding antibiotic-resistant bacteria.

            Evolution in action, gang: you put antibiotics into the environment, and they kill off all the susceptible bacteria. The ones who remain can (figuratively) look around and see ecological niches with lots of room for expansion. So they expand, the resistant ones: healthier cattle and pigs, at least for a while, but way more robust bacteria. And those bacteria will not necessarily stay down on the farm.

            Can you say "zoonose"? I can. I lived for close to a decade in the neighborhood of one of the main Illinois zoonose research center: that's the word for diseases that move from other animals into human beings, and you don't want production of new and more potent strains of zoonoses. You don't want antibiotics unnecessarily in the environment anywhere — especially not in a bacterial megaparadise like reservoirs of fermenting pig shit — not even if those antibiotics only help produce resistance in bacteria that attack only humans.

            You also don't want too many cattle standing around burping and farting —although burping, counterintuitively, is the bigger problem — and, additionally, producing manure. The contribution isn't major, and can be offset by using cow and pig … effluents (?) for biofuel and fertilizer, but our bovine and porcine meat-providers also add to greenhouse gasses.

            I miss meat, especially when watching the "food porn" commercials on TV featuring impossibly perfect double cheese burgers with bacon and a side order of spareribs. Still, I will continue to decline to eat anything with a backbone, face, and the potential to produce young that suckle — or eat anything that just may have a brain complex enough to get bored when trapped in a tank.

The Lion and the Mouse — and the Alligator (23 Jan. 2014)

"Do not insult the mother alligator until after you have crossed the river."
— Haitian Proverb I Like to Quote

            When I left Cornell U in Ithaca, NY, my friends gave me a copy of a book of classic insults, which had as its headnote what I have as mine above: "Do not insult the mother alligator until after you have crossed the river."
            I have not always followed this good advice, but at least in theory I would go further and advise against insulting even small alligators even when you're well beyond the river and are pretty sure you'll never see an alligator again. Yea, verily I would say unto you: If you can, make the alligator your friend.
            Three examples, two from the side of the human, and one from a small and figurative alligator's point of view.
            In my late teens, when I was a junior counselor or counselor at a summer camp, teaching archery, a father visiting "my" archery range nocked an arrow and drew a bow while facing away from the targets. We didn't have the term "zero tolerance" back then, and I wouldn't have liked the idea — I definitely don't like it now — but one should never, ever fuck around with weapons of any sort, so I told the aging juvenile to leave the range. I was later asked by a fellow counselor if I knew who the wise guy was. "Sewer Rat's father," I said, naming one of the less popular campers. "Uh huh," my colleague said, and left smiling cryptically.
            When the summer was over and I was back in the City, I read in the pre-Rupert-Murdoch Chicago Sun-Times that Sewer Rat's father had been found in the trunk of his Lincoln Continental with a couple bullets in his head: as we used to say at that time in Chicago, "an obvious suicide."
            On a later occasion, when I was a college junior or senior and a fraternity officer, I called the home of a pledge to remind him he was to come back from vacation a couple days early to help get the house ready for mid-year Rush.
            While we were mopping floors, or whatever, a fraternity brother of mine noted that the pledge in question had been dropped off by his father, who seemed somewhat pissed off at the house generally and, perhaps, me in particular. No big deal, but … "You were polite and respectful, right?" Of course I had been, but firm; I had other calls to make, and if I had to cut my vacation short a couple days, so could a freshman who would've been flunking out of school at a neighborhood animal house if I hadn't gone along with getting him depledged there and over to us in an arcane maneuver arranged by our Rush Chairman and agreed to by the other house with rapidity and graciousness that I should have thought more about.
            "You were polite and respectful right?" "Yeah. Why is this significant?" Did I know what the pledge's father did for a living? I did not. "Contract work," I was told. Maybe a couple contracts a year, and they lived on that, lived very, very well. When this Dad visited again, I didn't make a big deal out of it, but I did show, briefly, unostentatiously just how respectful I could be.
            Nice thing growing up in Chicago when I did: You learned the wisdom of manners if for no other reason than you could never be sure with whom you were dealing and if and how that person might be, as they said, "connected."
            An armed society probably isn't a polite society, certainly not in Chicago, but it can reduce young males' tendencies toward incivility if Ms. Manners might be a representative from the local B'nai Mafia chapter and advise respect while carrying a tire iron.
            My story from the other side, so to speak, is from the subtler world of scholarship. Long ago, I wrote a couple articles dealing with (among other things) Frederik Pohl and C. M. Kornbluth's fine but underrated and under-read 1955 novel, Gladiator-at-Law. My writing went unnoticed for years, and then I came across an article by a young scholar that not only cited my work but (unnecessarily for the citation) commented on it briefly, but at sufficient length to suggest that it — my work on this novel, my whole rather old-fashioned approach, actually — sucked.
            Okay, I finally get a citation, and a bit of a comment to boot, and it's insulting. Like the guy could have just had the citation, or said that I took an approach different from his and one he thought less useful, but, nah, he had to say something harsh.
            A couple more years pass, and I get a note from the guy who cited me saying, more or less, Hi, hey, what a coincidence, the Chair of his department —let's call him Rick — was a friend of mine from grad school and Rick said that the young scholar should write me. The guy needed an outside evaluation of his scholarship, which he hadn't had time to write much of, so his Gladiator-at-Law piece was going to be important for him to get tenure, and I was one of the few other people to write on the novel at the time and Rick said that I'd write a carefully composed and effective letter for him because I was a nice guy and a responsible scholar and would always give an honest evaluation and all the young scholar had to do was ask me politely and grovel, just a bit. He groveled; I wrote. The punk got tenure.
            "Keep your words soft and sweet," mostly — to modify somewhat a quotation attributed to Andy Rooney — "just in case you have to eat them.” But we should go even farther than avoiding giving offense. And here I'll paste in a fable out of Aesop that I learned as a child and — since I read it in a Latin version in college, not because it was around in my childhood — I'm sure is out of copyright.

A Lion asleep in his lair was waked up by a Mouse running over his face. Losing his temper he seized it with his paw and was about to kill it. The Mouse, terrified, piteously entreated him to spare its life. "Please let me go," it cried, "and one day I will repay you for your kindness." The idea of so insignificant a creature ever being able to do anything for him amused the Lion so much that he laughed aloud, and good-humouredly let it go. But the Mouse's chance came, after all. One day the Lion got entangled in a net which had been spread for game by some hunters, and the Mouse heard and recognised his roars of anger and ran to the spot. Without more ado it set to work to gnaw the ropes with its teeth, and succeeded before long in setting the Lion free. "There!" said the Mouse, "you laughed at me when I promised I would repay you: but now you see, even a Mouse can help a Lion."

Beyond the cynical advice on waiting to insult alligators, beyond the obvious prudence of not insulting Mafia accountants or free-lance hit men — or anyone just casually — "The Lion and the Mouse" teaches the more positive but equally practical lesson of being nice to others whenever we can. As the tough-minded among the Anarchists and communitarians argued, we practice mutual aid in part because it is right to do so and because it feels good to do so: but that good feeling comes from a reliable sense of superiority as well as more admirable altruism; also, however, we practice mutual aid and should be nice to one another because the one sure thing in life is that we will eventually get into trouble.



            So, MORAL: do not insult even small alligators and help when you can. If nothing else, you never know when you'll need a favor, or from whom.

One Dog I Helped Kill, Summer 1964 (19 Jan. 2014)

     I'm not sure what this story means. I do know that for a couple or three years after the incident, I needed to tell and retell it until I had fashioned it from an experience into a story: a work of narrative art, not necessarily a work of good art but art: something made, an act of "poiesis" — something outside of me and not just a memory.
 * * *
            In the summer of my junior year in college, I worked at Michael Reese Medical Center in Chicago, in the Department of Gastro-Intestinal Research, what would nowadays be called "Gastroenterology."
            My official title was "Student," and I was hired as part of a summer program where the head of the lab brought in a college student from outside the field to work in the lab "und ask shtupid quevstions" (our Director was Heinrich Necheles, MD, PhD, and one of the last of the products of the great German universities before Hitler took over and kicked out the Jews). Necheles knew I had pretty much become an English major, which was a bit too "outside" the field, but I was just a couple hours short of a degree in Microbiology, from a respectable school, and that was close enough.
            My job was like that of a summer intern, but "intern" means something else at a hospital, and I wasn't exploited to the degree interns are today. Anyway, one of my duties was to just be around as an observer who was bright but ignorant and ask questions that would force the people around me to explain things in terms layfolk — with a background in biology, but still layfolk — could understand. Another part of my duties was to be "low man in seniority" and do whatever needed to be done: help people as requested. And I had my own project they'd assigned: answer the question, "Would it be feasible to utilize strips of rat gut for the in vitro determination of the effects on stomach motility of a variety of pharmaceuticals?" The answer to that question was "No," and if they'd been able to do back then the sort of research you can do today in a couple hours on the web — if they'd been able to do the preliminary library research efficiently, they would have found out that it was known that rat gut didn't work very well for such assays, which is why labs doing that kind of work used guinea pig uteri.
            I was able to turn in my final report on my project written out on a 3 x 5 card, so I had a lot of time for "low man in seniority" work, and for reading. (Necheles approved of my reading on the job, including works he hadn't assigned me. His most memorable comment was picking up my copy of a Buddhism-for-Ignoramuses book and asking who was reading it, to which I said, "I am, doctor," and he said, "Good book. Tends to stress the spiritual a bit too much, but if you keep that in mind, it's good." I replied, "I didn't know you'd studied Buddhism." He had, when he was in China, developing the artificial kidney — a point, the one about dialysis, he casually dropped into another conversation.)
            One "LMiS" assignment came after a combination of two small mistakes.
            The first was that some surgical wire got small kinds in a few places, weakening it. The second was that someone inadvertently put the wrong barbiturate in the Nembutal bottle, as it turned out, a significantly weaker barbiturate.
            Nembutal is a brand name for pentobarbital, and it is described on Wikipedia as "a short-acting barbiturate" that "In high doses […] causes death by respiratory arrest," hence its use "for euthanasia for humans as well as animals."
            We would pour a palmful or so of it in a very large syringe, add water, shake, and then use it to put down — euthanize, kill — animals that we were finished with. In most cases, the "euthanizing" was required by law and by ethics, as we were reminded by a placard in each room of the lab giving the rules for what, in the 1960s, was the ethical treatment of lab animals.
            One of the lab techs had prepared such a syringe of, he thought, Nembutal solution and called me to go out with him in the courtyard to help him put down a dog.
            The dog — a fairly small one — was lying in the courtyard outside the lab, on its right side, in obvious distress. I don't know what the study was, but it involved a large incision in the dog's left side, one large enough to require using surgical wire to hold together the ribs.
            As I mentioned, the wire had been weakened and had broken, and the dog had in his side a gaping wound.
            I squatted down and took the dog's left front paw, turning it to "pop" the vein. The other tech injected the barbiturate.
            As I mentioned, the barbiturate wasn't Nembutal but something much less potent. The dog did not die, nor was it significantly anesthetized.
            He panted, straining to breathe with his lungs exposed.
            The other tech went inside, leaving me with the dog. I kept holding its leg and looking at him, in the face, with me squatting sideways to the dog.
            Now something I hadn't mentioned.
            One of my college classes was personal defense, and the one and only thing I was good at was what was called at the time and in that class "the Japanese choke hold." That was probably an error in terminology; anyway, it was the hold where one stands behind an opponent and, if all goes well, gets the forearm of one's dominant arm across the opponent's throat and the hand of one's other arm at the back of an opponent's head. (If I ever had to do this in actual personal defense, I would've bit into the opponent's back as well.) The idea isn't to choke but to cut the blood off to the brain and render the opponent unconscious, and limp. And then stop, because after the opponent loses consciousness there's the danger — probably slight, but there — of snapping his neck.
            Looking down at the dog, as time went by, and he suffered, and the other tech did not return, I thought, "I might know how to kill this dog quickly."
            And I started to stand up, but only a little bit up, in a position I couldn't long hold; and I heard simultaneously two voices, like in an old Morality Play: both speaking at once, but in some way that I could understand both.
            One said, "Kill the dog. You just may know how. 'No animal shall be allowed to suffer more than is required for the experiment or longer than is required for the experiment.' That is your duty. That is what compassion requires."
            The other said, an archaic voice, "Yes, kill the dog. You've killed with a needle, but what does it feel like to kill with your hands?"
            And I was paralyzed while a line from T. S. Eliot's Murder in the Cathedral ran through my head, over and over, "The last temptation is the greatest treason: / To do the right deed for the wrong reason."
            I have no idea how long I half-stood, half-crouched there, but my knees hurt for the rest of the day.
            Then the other tech came over, kind of shook me, and we killed the dog.
            Nothing came of my moment — or minutes — of paralysis, at least nothing in terms of my status at the lab. Aside from the decency and discretion of the other tech (or its never getting back to me if he gossiped), there were soon other things to talk about. The mix-up in barbiturates/anesthetics had other results.
            Specifically, a dog who should have been thoroughly anesthetized turned out not to be, and when Dr. Ari — possibly his nickname — put the trachea tube in, the dog bit him, triggering the City of Chicago and State of Illinois's very stringent rules on rabies. So a cop or two showed up at the lab to impound the dog, who was in no shape to go anywhere given that a new anesthetic was prepared and the experiment performed and those State laws and professional ethics summarized on the wall plaques required that we kill the dog. And so the Rich story around the lab was that I was guy who carried the dog brain over to Public Health for examination for rabies, in a lunch cooler in a Planters' Dry Roasted Salted Peanuts jar.
            The dog, of course, didn't have rabies; Dr. Ari's injury was slight — although a dog bite on a surgeon's hand is a matter for concern — and I finally got to use the mnemonic for the order of the cranial nerves. (The one I used went "On old Olympus's towering tops, / A Finn and German viewed some hops"; Dr. Ari was first of the group to identify the nerve we needed to know: "The mnemonic is faster in Japanese," he said. I have no idea why the form we filled out required us to identify the nerves involved in removing the brain.) By coincidence I worked the next summer at Illinois Public Health and was vaguely remembered as the guy who walked in with the brain in the Planters' Dry Roasted Peanut jar.
            Several things came of the experience for me personally. Most obviously was my walking around for a couple or three or four years like a low-rent version of Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, telling the story, including to the captive audience of some of my classes.
            Clearly, the experience had gotten to me.
            For one thing, Eliot's couplet is correct in its context in Murder in Cathedral, but mostly it's bullshit. George Carlin repeats somewhere in his impressive canon the Roman Catholic, high Anglican, and general Christian doctrine, "By your intentions shall ye be judged," and in a religion stressing belief and doctrine that stress on intentions makes sense. As my handful of loyal readers know, I'm more in the Jewish tradition of caring more about conduct: if people do the right thing for whatever reasons, at least they did the right thing.
            The right thing with the dog at Reese would have been to kill him as quickly and humanely as possible. On the other hand, if I'd done so, I probably would have been traumatized by guilt, or maybe by too big a step toward self-recognition.
            I had helped kill dogs with a needle: overdosing them. It's a quiet death, mostly visible by the lines on the instruments flattening out: "flatlining" as the expression has it. With the rats and one rabbit, I felt bad, but not that much; and the one cat we killed had almost blinded a volunteer — with justification: as part of an escape attempt — and I really wasn't around for when we finished with the cat.
            Dogs are larger (generally) than cats or rabbits or — definitely — than rats, and however irrational that is, the larger size is significant; more significant, I'd grown up with dogs; dogs for me have strong reality as sentient beings: I like and have bonded with dogs.
            "What would it feel like to kill with your hands?"
            I am serious when I say that voice was archaic, and I'm pretty sure that at the time I had at most only heard of Carl Jung and knew little or nothing about his theory of the Shadow. I had met that Shadow, my Shadow, and I was not happy about it.
            In my family, my sister was "the smart one"; I was "the good one."
            But very apparently not entirely good, maybe, at the core, not good at all. Something deep inside of me, something very much part of me and what made me me was at least curious about killing and killing with emotional response a creature he saw as a someone, a face looking up at him, a face he knew elicited connection and compassion. He had to know that the face elicited connection and compassion because other aspects of me were feeling those emotions.
            Paralysis was an answer, and the safest answer for my stability, but a wrong answer.

            That time of paralysis, the time of unnecessary suffering for that dog, is upon my conscience and, like some of my work that summer more generally, still, a bit, upon my soul.