What makes humans better?

I’m sick of hearing that animals can’t have rights because you like to eat them.

I have nothing against animals being eaten—humans are omnivores and are built to consume animal protein as well as a variety of other foods. What bothers me is the lack of respect for the non-human animals we keep. If anyone has seen cattle feedlots or the animals that are abused and neglected as property you know what I mean.

What is this “right” that humans intrinsically have over non-humans? I used the dictionary to clarify my terms:

Right
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English riht, from riht, adjective
Date: before 12th century
1: qualities (as adherence to duty or obedience to lawful authority) that together constitute the ideal of moral propriety or merit moral approval

2: something to which one has a just claim: as a: the power or privilege to which one is justly entitled b (1): the interest that one has in a piece of property —often used in plural (2)plural : the property interest possessed under law or custom and agreement in an intangible thing especially of a literary and artistic nature

3: something that one may properly claim as due

4: the cause of truth or justice

Let’s put each of these definitions into context. The first definition relates to phrases like “you’re right”, as in I’m correct. With no situational context given to us it’s hard to determine moral rightness. In fact, even if we did have a situation, could we really label actions that a human does as “right” outside of the laws our species imposes on us? To do the opposite and impose ideas of moral rightness on a non-human who does not share our society or concerns is anthropomorphism—the giving of human qualities to a non-human animal or vice versa (a Disney animal is anthropomorphized because it can talk, for example).

The second definition is similar, but relates to entitlement. For instance: “in the United States I have the right of freedom of speech”. Good for me! But the definition goes deeper than that by indicating that the claim must be just. Once again there is a moral stint to this word. Now what just claims does an animal have? In human society, as a human, they would have certain rights. Even the mentally retarded have some rights in some societies, so a non-human's supposed lesser intelligence cannot be what sets them apart. What sets them apart is simply that they are not human. I have no problem with this perception because I think that anthropomorphizing non-human animals does them a great disservice. What I have a problem with is the idea that not human somehow means that they have no inherent rights.

The last two definitions are variations on the theme. But I would like to point out something interesting about the wording in the third definition: “Something that one may properly claim as due”. I think this is where you could argue that non-human animals don’t have rights—it’s because they can’t properly claim their dues, because, of course, they can’t speak human. I would argue against that by saying that non-human animals have a lot to tell us in their own ways, but most humans do not bother to notice. And how can they? The animals they see are wrapped in cellophane long before they are grilled and washed down with cold beer. Or they live in our houses, with us, as pets. And pets have been domesticated—they have adapted to living with humans—so the gap in communication should be even less. But is it? There is strong evidence that our domesticated animals have evolved means to communicate better with their humans— for instance both dogs and cats have become more vocal then their wild counterparts. I think we have the means inside us to communicate more intimately with animals, especially with our domesticated partners, but social standards prevent most of us from doing so. It’s the idea that they are somehow less important, with no natural rights, that seems to lead people to this conclusion. Non-human equals no rights. Its how Western culture has raised us (I can’t speak for cultures I don’t belong to, but from what I’ve seen and hear this is a culturally universal trait).

So why don’t animals get respect? Why does abuse and neglect happen and go unpunished? Why do we use non-human animals like they are things? Go ahead and argue that humans have to look out for their own—I will counter right back and say that, if that’s true, then why are we better than non-humans? If that was the case then we are selfish, shortsighted, and blind to the world around us. I have heard these traits attached to non-humans as a reason that they are not better than us. And honestly, can we even attach these traits to anyone without knowing them and their motives?

The argument that they are less intelligent is also faulty. The mentally retarded are less intelligent and human-centric folks will still argue that they have as much value as an intelligent individual. Also—we are anthropomorphizing again when we say they are less intelligent. Yes, you can argue that they have less of the human-type of intelligence. Good for them! But I bet I don’t have any wolf-intelligence or centipede-intelligence. There are quite a few things that these species excel at that I haven’t a hope of puzzling through even with my huge brain. I could even bring in example of non-humans that DO seem to have a type of intelligence comparable to a human. I knew someone with a scarlet macaw who could not only speak English, but knew a supposition from a noun from a verb. He would correct or puzzle over the way this woman’s six year old stepdaughter spoke because she wasn’t very proper. How did he learn this? His owner was an English teacher and writer, who would read her work out to him and self-correct things out loud. He was a fast learner. He also could differentiate himself from the crowd (I think all mammals and birds, at the very least, can do this). Once, while his owner was cooking he asked “Sammy help stir?” and when his owner approved he flew down to help stir the pasta with his beak. So Sammy could bridge the gap, and that’s amazing. But non-human animals are bridging that gap all the time and most people aren’t aware of it.

I personally know that non-human bird and mammals at least (I don’t have in depth experience with other groups) are more complex emotionally than any human.

But it shouldn’t be an issue of who is better in any respect. Every species, every individual, has their strengths and their weaknesses. Who should have intrinsic rights? Every individual—no matter what race, religion, gender or species should have the ability to live well. And by living well I don’t mean not being eaten—that’s a natural life process. What I do mean is that you should have the ability to fight or flee when the threat of being eaten is upon you. Or have land to roam and unpolluted greens to eat. Basically to live within you realm of choices, and have your realm of choices include what’s natural for you. A house cat will probably want to live in a house and be fed two meals a day. Sammy, the scarlet macaw, was born and raised in captivity. But because macaws are not domesticated, if he had been born in the wild his forest home may have been natural for him. He might have flourished there but been devastated if captured to be a pet. There are so many situations that we impose on non-humans that they can’t adapt too. A wolf cannot live in a cage and eat cellophane-meat. His choices in that situation do not include what is natural. And natural is good.

I understand non-humans in a way: I don’t live within a sphere that’s natural for me. But I DO have the choice to pursue what is good for me. It’s a struggle, and who knows if I will get their in the end, but at least I have the right.

Why I ride—the selfish version of events.

There’s something really fantastic about the way horses smell. I love pressing my face into my horse’s side and drawing in a deep breath. The smell of her calls up visions of sweeping grass, wet dirt and the sheen of clean sweat on her body as she runs. This memory-connection I have in my brain sends a shiver of delight down my spine every time. Those smells, sights, sounds and the feeling of a powerful steed moving underneath you are all behind my associations of "freedom".

I first felt "free" on the back of a horse. It was a moment when we were running and something clicked inside me: I could feel that equine power coursing through ever sinew and muscle of my body, energizing me. That feeling of physical ease and confidence is something I can never get in my own awkward human body. I get the feeling that horses live closer to the earth (and further from it) than any human ever could. And it’s an addiction. Those of us who ride for this reason—the search for being complete and connected —don’t get this feeling every time we ride. But that does not mean we stop searching for it. It's one of the reasons I ride Dressage, which at the sport's best, focuses on rider-horse connection. And when we do have those moments it makes our lives better from that moment forward.

For me there are some individuals in which this feeling is easy to find. There was one horse whom I knew in two different situations—one in the Trinity Alps, and one in this sordid dust-choked town in central California. She was nothing special to look at and had no competitive talents, but she knew me intimately from the moment I climbed on her big broad back. As romanticized as that sounds, a horse that knows you isn’t going to do everything you ask with the lightest touch. This horse was lazy and as stubborn as she was smart—not difficult to ride, just difficult to understand and get fine-tuned control out of her.

Now, there were days when I was deep in the hole, feeling like the world was pressing me down so that I squished into the cracks in the concrete, in which I could hop on this particular horse and fly away. It wasn’t allowed, but I would close my eyes, give her a loose rein, and she would canter on and on. The steady drum of her hooves and the movement of my own body in concert with her would free me from all my hurt.

Horses ground me and lift me up simultaneously. The smell of their sweaty bodies and the sound of the muffled shrunch of them eating their hay, reminds me of better days when I could see the world with the same clarity that a horse does. My horse reminds me that when things are bad and I can't take one breath without anxiety filling my lungs I need to just stop and be a horse.

Someday I will have land, and on that land I will make a place for the horses. Not just for my horse, who is going to be with me for the remainder of her natural life, but for other horses that need help being horses again because of the abuse and neglect they have suffered under human hands. We humans are not humane, but I think I can help heal some of the damage my fellows have done on the non-human people we consider property. Horses are complex creatures—socially, physically and mentally. But what they want is the same as any person — to be healthy, to have friends, to have food, water and space to run. In other words: freedom.

Human senses, and what's nonsensical.

I was wondering the other day if everyone has a particular dislike for a sound, sight, feeling, taste or smell. Do they know what their dislike is and is it ingrained in their genetics or part of their history? Do all humans have an aversion to certain experiences?

Everyone dislikes certain foods, so it’s easy to assume that taste is the sense that is easily defined under the qualifications of “good” and “bad”. Smell is related to taste. You can assume that if something smells rancid, it is going to taste rancid. Logically we can assume that all humans have a dislike for smells or tastes of things that are not good for us to eat. Evolutionarily this would be a very good idea! Of course, there are certain things I loathe to smell or taste that other people seem more than willing to. Cigar or joint smoke, for one, makes me want to hurl. And yet I like the smell of turpentine. This interest me because it begs the question—do I not like smokers or smoking because the smell disgusts me? Or do I have an aversion to the smell because I dislike smoking? Perhaps I even enjoy the smell of turpentine because I associate it with painting.

And what about sounds? Is there a sound that has a universal reaction of dislike or fear from humans? For me it’s babies. I can’t stand the sounds they make—and this includes their bubbling and their laughter, not just their screaming. When a baby cries I expect they are being so irritating because they want someone to soothe them right away, and mothers that soothed their children instead of killing them (like I probably would) would be more likely to pass on their genes. I doubt I could conclude that a baby screaming is found as universally disgusting because of this.

Evolutionarily you might expect ancestral humans to find the sound of a predator snarling frightening. To me the snarling would be frightening only if I thought it was going to lead to pain—it’s only a method of communication to me and I’m not afraid of it at all. The counterargument of that is that babies are also communicating when they “talk” (how could their noises ever be considered “talking”?); to me a snarl is much more effective than blowing spit bubbles.

It also makes my skin crawl to see a baby’s pink wet mouth and sausage-limbs waving, so there is a clear overlap in my sense-dislike there. Thankfully I’ve only had the bad luck to hold a baby once, but my impression was the same: disgust.

Again, there is a discord between what I find disgusting and what the majority of humanity find disgusting. I enjoy looking at spiders and have no problem with snakes (in fact I love both groups!), but human children make me want to run away and hide.

In conclusion? Babies are gross. Oh, and I don’t think sense-dislike is universal, though I could see such things being a bell curve. Unless we are talking about claustrophobia I’d probably be on the extreme ends of that bell curve.