Tame Your Ego, Eat Your Meat.

To enjoy this post, you will need to do the following:

1) Remove, as cleanly as possible, your entire ego. Salt, and set aside.

2) Prepare your grill. Cook ego over direct heat.

3) Enjoy

I think about the question of what people should eat constantly, and have a loosely woven and amazingly elaborate, many-tentacled beast of philosophy about it. I have not, as yet, attempted to write it down, until I read Nathanael Johnson’s piece on Grist from last week: “Is there a moral case for eating meat?”

As suspected, Peter Singer was cited as the end-of-the-line argument for all critics of meat eating. His book, Animal Liberation, is the ever-respected foundation of every single argument made for the abstention from omnivory. Since before I was born. No one tries to argue with it because no one ever really has, was Johnson’s point. He’s mostly right. No one that I know of has really argued successfully with Peter Singer. Not objectively. And rarely without some terrible commentary that just pisses off a lot of vegetarians and vegans.

I’ll admit that I have intentionally refrained from crafting a true argument.  I like Peter Singer, and this subject is scary. Some people with strong opinions on either side of the line are also scary. In my cooking classes, I like to approach the subject by saying “We’re really not going to approach that subject.” It usually satisfies everyone, vegans and omnivores and those in between. But really, I loathe the great divide between meat eaters and vegans, because I care a lot (a lot) about real, good food. And resilient life. I think there are a lot of other reasons to ponder what you should eat, and why it matters, outside of (but not totally separate from) philosophy. All these spheres connect,  and of course the moral argument is still relevant.   But perhaps standard dialogue is a bit tired, and needy.

The basic premise for individual animals being too valuable to eat is based on the premise that individual humans are of paramount importance. We have a peculiar adaptation that allows us to place ourselves at the center, and so we compare eating animals based on what we believe they experience and feel, and we base what we believe they experience on what we experience and feel. We project. Our self-consciousness makes it very difficult for us to morally justify eating other animals. It's understandable. It's not impossible to deal with. 

If one is able to demolish some basic assumptions, and some ego, it is possible to mount a pretty objective case for meat eating. Which begs the question: Are most people mounting a true moral case for or against eating meat? Are morals really the issue here? Or do we just want to feel better about our own mortality?  To lose basic assumptions that have heretofore seemed irrefutable, you must make a distinction between EGO and LIFE. Both are real. Both have their place. Both have perceived and real importance. But they are different.

Further, you must make a differentiation between INDIVIDUAL LIFE and PLANETARY LIFE. They are both real, but they are different.

I’m all for life, and I have ego (duh), evidenced by the fact that I’m writing this, and by the following statements: I love my life. I love my kids. I worry about losing these things. I don’t wish to feel pain. I appreciate moral structure. I want to be happy. I want others to be happy. I don’t wish for my children to feel pain. I will feel pain for them, if I can. I will prolong my own life as long as it feels right to do so, because I believe my life has value. I believe I have some form of individuality, and I appreciate the gift of organized thought. Or the illusion of organized thought. Either way, I’m just like everyone else. Loving life, avoiding death, and hating pain.

Peter Singer would argue that most of this makes me sentient (able to feel pain and fear, and perceive suffering), and that sentience flows from being conscious, and that possession of these qualities means I should not be killed or eaten. If I should look about the world and identify with other beings that possess these qualities, they should also not be killed or eaten. Therefore I should not eat my mother, or a cow, or a cat.

I would argue that some of these values are products of my ego, which sets me apart from animals (but does not make me better),  and some are products of my being merely alive (as alive as a pig), and some arise from my station as a being possessing a nervous system (yep. animals all). Thus, I don't base my argument on the fact that humans are more worthy than animals. We aren't.  It's as much of a question of morality as morality is a question of biology.

We will define my ego as my value of my self. My ego is a product of self-consciousness (awareness of the self). Self-consciousness is a product of consciousness. Please note that these are all connected, but please resist the urge to make them teleological. Connection does not always imply hierarchy. No one knows what consciousness is, truly, and so noted philosophers usually settle upon whichever of the numerous propositions about consciousness supports his particular agenda. These propositions range all the way from consciousness being a random output of neurological order, to consciousness being spiritual. Avoiding these extremes, and taking a moderate stance, lets assume that consciousness is merely awareness of the external world. Which may be differentiated further from cognition (basic awareness). Where do you draw the line? Should you? If a plant can release toxins to combat an invasion of predator bugs, is that plant therefore aware of the external world? Or only aware enough to be capable of reacting, without conscious prevention or anticipation? Does this mean the plant is cognitive? What is the difference between cognition and basic life? We see cells, including cancer, reproducing and persisting, which is the most basic expression of life, and we assume there is neither cognition nor consciousness behind it. Therefore, is consciousness not a “will” to live, or persistence? If not, is it proper, or is it at all a function of morals, for us to draw lines of distinction showing where, in this order, a living thing becomes more valuable?

I'd argue that it doesn't, and that our delineation of all this is the work of our ego.   Let's step back from all that for a moment.  Your ego prioritizes you, and loves kittens, and can only separate observation of other beings from itself with lots, and lots, and lots of effort. Or with the assistance of psychotropic drugs. Or with a massive neurosis. Moving forward, thankfully, without the assistance of those last two things, focus now on differentiating your life from your ego. Your ego will not eat kittens, (but will sometimes ignore the euthanization of over 1 million cats annually). Your ego will not allow you to eat your mother (understandably… very, very understandably).  Your ego loves you, more than it loves most other human animals. You love your mother or your child more than that, perhaps. You love your mother or your child more than you love a cow. Although a cow cannot differentiate, at times, a flap of plastic waving in the sunlight from a deathly threat to its life, a cow prioritizes her child. Does a cow have ego? Most sources argue no. If her child fails to thrive, she will leave it in the field. The cow doesn't feel or philosophize that she is of the most valuable species on the planet, wonder why she feels or thinks the way she feels, or wonder about her value. Her adaptive mechanisms provide for fight or flight and reproduction, and bonding, too, so that she and her herd survive. The fact that we are able to perceive ourselves as too beautiful or wonderful for eating is only attributable to our ego, which we then project onto the dog, because we love him, and then to other peoples' dogs, because they are dogs like ours, and then onto the cow, because while using this egoist prop logic we cannot really see much difference between the dog and the cow. Oh, and our culture doesn't support dog-eating. So there is that taboo.  

The business of the human race being more highly evolved and valuable than any other species, or pigs being more highly evolved than cabbages or protists, is poppycock. Prokaryotic organisms, specifically bacteria,  can zing past each other and literally trade their genes like baseball cards, then double their numbers every 20 minutes. Each progeny that results from a divide can also trade genes, and they do this to promote change. Within one hour, it is possible that an entirely new species has been created. Or, wait, since they are trading genetics so easily, perhaps there is no such thing as discreet species at all. Due to these rapid abilities to vary and adapt, bacteria are able to fantastically alter individual cells, populations, and their environment. We slower, more conscious and careful beings owe our existence to them. I'd argue that that makes them way more highly evolved than we are. If humans were able to trade genes, perhaps we'd be rid of cancer already, or everyone would be a universal blood donor. 

This isn't to say that our egos aren't useful. Probably, ego is an adaptive mechanism, to prevent self-conscious organisms such as humans from acting out too much in our self-interest. We're allowed to love, and empathize. I'll take it. I'd argue that our egos are mostly why we don't eat each other. Our other biological tendencies,  separate from our ego, may also have bearing,  in that humans naturally have preference for fellow humans. We need each other to mate, and ensure the proliferation of Homo Sapiens. (Species love… 4eva). Speaking of, let's talk about that. Let's consider human life, as separately from ego and perception as possible.  Your life is this: an extraordinary collection of cells, organized into tissues, organs, and a body. You do not have to have ego to have life. 

Breathe. In and out. Try to chew your ego very slowly (22 chomps per bite is supposed to help, I’ve heard), and consider this thought: I hope someone eats me when I die. I hope someone whittles my bones into useful tools, and some kids play kickball with my bladder, and so on and so forth. No one will do it. That’s fine, too. But then I’ll be put into the ground. This is OK, as long as I am not pumped full of a chemical cocktail that resists the decomposition of my flesh. I would like to be given over completely to mushrooms, and bacteria, and worms, and many other amazing creatures that will convert my body into a rich deposit of worth for more life.

Further: my death will mean the death of one individual. In the grand scheme of things, this will be as insignificant as the thoughts I once valued. It will be like a giant many-fingered glove, filled with water, and one finger is squeezed flat. The water will be pushed into the rest of the glove, but it will not go away. It will potentially be sad for my children, and my friends, and all of the people and animals who loved me with all of their egos and consciousness. That is a beautiful thing, for sure.  Peter Singer argues that we should treat people and animals as individuals, and not as members of a species. I argue that we can do both. We have that amazing capacity, and it can serve us, and other species, quite well. We already focus an awful lot on individuals (could do better with some), but we could do a lot better remembering our larger species order. While I value my individuality, and love my loved ones, I also value the reality that my species, Homo sapiens, will not notice my death. My species will live on, and carry out its place in the grand scheme of diverse life that cycles and persists, depending on other beings to keep it in delicate balance.

This species, Homo Sapiens, at this point in time, can only survive on planet Earth. For bodily function, we depend on air, water, and soil. For us to breathe our air, and eat our food, and drink water, we depend on a perfect ratio of oxygen relative to other gases in the atmosphere. We depend on available minerals in the ground, and proper salts in the oceans. Little do we consider, as we go about our precious lives, that these ratios are maintained by complex communities of nonhuman organisms living in the atmosphere, our bodies, in the soil, and in the oceans. Mostly the prokarytoes (yep, there they are again). They maintain the pH, temperature, gaseousness, and other factors of our world in such fine balance that we might expect some higher consciousness at play. It isn't likely. We depend on them, and we kill them all the time, regardless of what we choose to eat.  All organisms (us, and butterflies, and the protists), in pursuit of individual life or the life of a community, are connected to the full system, which then interacts, and creates circumstances that produce further life. Whether or not each individual in this grand scheme is aware, conscious, self-conscious, sentient, or egoist, each persists via some mysterious driving force against incredible odds, both as an individual, and a member of a the complex web of planetary life.

In this scheme of planetary life, individuals are important, and individuals are not important. Individuals are valuable in the unfeeling persistence of life because they have a biological role. It is possible that eukaryotes like me, my dog, my cabbage plant, and my pig, are only here as members of our group to 1)generate energy via poop or photosynthesis, 2)die and decompose, thusly feeding other organisms, and 3)process oxygen. We should differentiate further on #1, honing in on the distinction between plants and animals. Plant eukaryotes lack the pooping requirement, but they are the only members of their biological domain that can convert solar energy into other forms of energy for planetary life. Plants are thusly huge contributors to mineral and energy cycles. Oh, my, now what? Does this mean I should eat fewer plants? What is best for the total energy budget belonging to planetary life? And what of my poop? How can it be most useful? What should it contain? The remnants of higher protein beings and the powerful bacterial life that thrives on that detritus, or rather their more fibrous brethren? Or both? Is my body valuable enough? Am I valuable? How much do my decisions about what I eat inform how valuable I am as an individual organism? As a member of my species? As something that will inevitably decompose and feed some other creatures? What if my mother needs a fecal transplant? These questions do seem moral to me on many grounds, but I can consider that perhaps they are not. That life, and even ego, is simply part of a grander scheme which includes maintenance of Earth’s impossible atmosphere, health of the soils that feed many forms of life, and the exchange of energy on which all organisms depend. And that I, me, ego, self, am no more important than a grain of kefir, a reishi mushroom, a puppy, or a bull. 

{Now. Now we are really, really deep in dangerous philosophical territory. My ego is very very afraid. I may not even post this. }

Am I arguing that we should maintain egoism when it comes to our mothers and our cats, but not beef cattle or chickens? I'm arguing that we mostly can't help but to do that. It's part of our biology.  I'm arguing that we should recognize the role of our egos in this debate, and recognize that morals are a product of our consciousness, which is a product of evolution. Add to that your upbringing, culture, perspective, etc. Ego is possibly where you got lucky, or became doomed, evolutionarily.  That you perceive your value, that you perceive disgust, that you or I are not likely to sacrifice ourselves for the entire rest of the human race: this is probably more detrimental to our species, making us "less evolved." I'm arguing that it's not heresy to suggest we visit eating pets. If pigs or dogs had the capacity to trap and eat humans, they might likely do so. I'm arguing that consciousness, values, and morals are perceived and projected, and effected by biological workings. 

One could argue, according to this logic, that environmentalism is an egoist construct. It is. There’s nothing wrong with that, and that does not make it sentimental, or invalid. People who do not identify as environmentalists are almost always people who do not understand that they are individual members of a species that is a member of the biological community that we call the “environment”. To exploit it is a pursuit in threatening ourselves. Cheers.

Thus, it will do us no good to argue whether this line of thinking is utilitarian or selfish. It is both. It is all inherently both.  

OK, so what if my species, Homo sapiens, completely dies? Well, it will surely change the system, but it will not kill the system. Planetary life will continue. Similarly, if Bos taurus (the species behind my beef hamburger) is completely eradicated from the Earth, planetary life will continue (even if Homo sapiens is hungry). Even if mass extinction of many, many species, deemed conscious and/or unconscious, sentient or not, suddenly disappear from the Earth, it will not matter to planetary life. Even if this initiates an ice age, and total abolishment of homeostasis, there will probably be some foundation of a cell. Most likely a prokaryote. Some tick of life to inform resilience. 

Chill out. I’m like you. Really. I don’t want to go there. I just want people to realize that this mental exercise is meant to place us back in biological community with our “external” environment. No matter how important I make myself, or the chicken, no matter where I came from, or if it's chicken or egg first, no matter how scary it all is, the fact remains that we will die, ego or not. If, on that day, I get picked to death by a pack of vultures, or slowly covered with fantastic, colorful lichen, OR dressed with spice and salt and neatly portioned into juicy edibles for other eukaryotes, my ego that cares will know not. And it will no longer matter. If animals do not have ego to begin with, does the circumstance of their death or the use of their body matter to them? Their drive to live is biological. It is autopoeisis, not sentimentality. So is cancer's. So is yours, even though your ego fools you. Does this mean we should kill all food animals by any means we deem convenient? Absolutely not. It is possible to respect life, and sentience (our egos will help us this pursuit), while still eating meat. 

Tame your ego, eat your meat. But challenge yourself, now, to recognize that if you can do both of these things in the best way possible, it will likely not mean that your life, or your purchasing decisions, or your diet stay the same. We have a lot of problems in the way that we produce and consume meat,  so I assert that it is not most important, at this stage of the evolutionary cycle, and in our station within planetary life, to argue about morals when we approach our trophic inclinations. We should instead have more conversations about the most ethical way to eat meat, which is the subject of my forthcoming book.  By and large, this will make a bigger difference than furrowed-browed musing on the mechanics of consciousness.