A Short
Story
The ant climbs up a trunk
carrying a petal on its back;
and if you look closely
that petal is as big as a house
especially compared to the ant that
carries it so olympically.
You ask me: Why couldn’t I carry
a petal twice as big as my body and my head?
Ah, but you can, little girl,
but not petals from a dahlia,
rather boxes full of thoughts
and loads of magic hours, and
a wagon of clear dreams, and
a big castle with its fairies:
all the petals that form the soul of
a little girl who speaks and speaks. . . ![1]
--David Escobar Galindo
“It
could still go either way,” Eve said, struggling to lift her heavy, droopy
daughter, Eveline, out of her crib. Eveline felt heavy and droopy because she
was two years old, no longer an infant, and also because she was still
half-asleep. “They’ve only been deliberating for a week. If the deliberations
had taken longer I would be strongly convinced that we’d won, if you can call
it that now. But after only a week . . .it should take nearly a week for most
of the jury to simply understand what we’re talking about, let alone consider
the ethical, economic, and legal implications of their verdict. Hell, I barely
even understand it all, and I’ve been studying it for years.”
“You’re
certain the decision will come today?” asked Lorena, Eveline’s nanny.
“Shouldn’t you be at the courthouse then?” Lorena handed Eve a pink barrette
that had fallen from Eveline’s unruly brown curls.
“Only
the lawyers have to be there. I’m just one of the witnesses. One of the flies
caught in the political web. Michael promised he would call and let me know
when they’ve reached a verdict.” Eve fastened the barrette back in place and
gently combed Eveline’s hair with her fingers. Eveline closed her eyes and
started to fall back asleep as she rested a chubby pink cheek on Eve’s
shoulder.
“I
know this has been hard on you, ma’am. You’ve published so many articles and
books about this. People are finally listening, but now, well, since Eveline .
. .” Lorena stepped back and began fussing with the hem on the skirt one of
Eveline’s dolls: the antique doll that talked when you pulled the string on her
back. The doll’s dress was a bit tattered, but she could still say seven
different phrases.
“I understand how
hard this must be, ma’am. And I hope I’m not speaking out of place. But at
least it’ll all be over after today.” Lorena stopped fussing with the doll and
stretched her arms out toward Eveline. “Would you like me to take Evie to the
park so you can rest, ma’am?”
“No,
thank you, Lorena. I’ll look after her myself this afternoon. In fact, you take
the rest of the day off. You deserve it. You’ve been putting in so many extra
hours since the trial began.” Eve ushered Lorena to the door. “Before you go
out, though, please ask Carlos to take the call from Michael for me when it
comes in and to bring me the message right away.” Lorena opened her mouth,
raised her eyebrows, and started to protest, but Eve cut her off, “Thank you,
Lorena. Really, thank you.”
After
Lorena left, Eve sat with Eveline in the rocking chair. Eve wasn’t ready for
the jury’s verdict. As a philosopher, she had been preparing for it for the
last twenty years, but as a parent, she wasn’t sure she would ever be fully
prepared. What would the consequences be in a world like this? she
thought. What would happen to Eveline?
She didn’t want to think about that. “Only a few minutes longer, sleepyhead,”
Eve said to her daughter, “then you have to wake up.” This had all been so much
easier when it was just theory, Eve sighed as she rocked slowly, rhythmically.
Philosophers and
scientists had begun defending, criticizing, and debating the implications of
the Argument for Moral Consistency as far back as the 1970s, during the first
population and energy crises. Eve herself had been defending it since 2036,
when Macphail’s theory about the evolution of consciousness had finally been supported and widely accepted by philosophers,
experimental psychologists, linguists, and neurologists, first in China, then
in the United States after the 2034 Energy Crisis. As the new decade
approached, fewer people were dying each year as a result of mass starvation,
but the practices of infanticide and geronticide continued to spread. People
didn’t openly discuss these practices, of course. They didn’t want to believe
they ever happened, let alone still happened. Eve didn’t understand their
reluctance herself until she had Eveline. So much had changed since she’d had
Eveline.
“Time
to wake up, Eveline,” Eve said. Eveline lifted her head, but was struggling to
keep her eyes open. “Come on, darling. It’s time to wake up.” Eve spoke more
calmly this time, but rubbed Eveline’s back briskly, trying to rouse her.
Eveline’s yellow cotton T-shirt crept up as she rubbed, and Eveline reached
back to yank it back down. “What’s the matter, Evie? Are Mommy’s hands cold?
I’m sorry. Come on and wake up, now. Mommy will read you a story.” Eveline
responded with a yawn.
Eve
hoped reading a story would help her stop thinking obsessively about the trial.
And about Michael. Ten years ago, when she was a post doc and he was starting
his own law practice, they were clearly on the same side. They were both young
and idealistic and had combined their efforts to develop and implement
effective solutions to the world’s problems. Three years ago, however, when she
became pregnant unexpectedly and refused to abort Michael’s child, the sides
began to blur.
During the trial,
Eve tried to explain the essential elements of Macphail’s theory to the jurors
in the simplest way she knew how: According to this theory, consciousness
evolved in human animals, and in human animals only, because they have acquired
language. The rest of the theory is a hypothetical syllogism: If an animal does
not acquire language, then the animal is not conscious of itself. If the animal
is not conscious of itself, then the animal is not conscious of its feelings.
If the animal is not conscious of its feelings, then the animal is not
conscious of pain. Therefore, if the animal does not acquire language, the
animal is not conscious of pain. It does not suffer.
After
a few minutes of rubbing, Eveline’s eyes were finally open and appeared to be
focused on the banana-yellow and plum-purple alphabet wallpaper. Eve stood up
and walked over to the bookcase. There were easily two hundred books on the
shelves, and Eve had read each one to Eveline at least twice. She knew how
important it was to read to children, how it was supposed to help them develop
language skills. So Eve had filled the room with books. And dolls. The room
used to be full of fuzzy, cute, mute stuffed animals that Eveline had received
from family and friends. But Eve had replaced all of the animals with dolls:
little girls with pretty names, porcelain faces, pink cheeks, and glossy
painted mouths.
Eve’s
eyes were on the dolls, but her mind was back at the trial. Animals’ rights are
determined by whether or not they suffer, she’d had to explain. Since
Macphail’s theory links suffering to language, and language to humanity, the
implications of the theory go beyond non-human animals. In other words, some
humans who lack language abilities, such as infants, comatose patients, the
hopelessly senile, or the profoundly retarded, are also not conscious. They are
considered “marginal cases of humanity” and considered by some as virtually no
different than non-human animals. Therefore, the whole argument basically came
down to this: to be fair and to be consistent, marginal cases of humanity and
non-human animals should be treated in the same way and be extended the same
rights. Even a year ago this still all made sense to Eve. It was clear. Today
she felt as bewildered as some of the jurors looked when she tried to explain.
“Ready
for a story?” Eve asked Eveline as she slid a book from the shelf. “Here’s a
nice book, Evie. See the sailboat? I know, how about a poem?” Eve sat with
Eveline on the window seat. “Here, you hold it,” she said, handing Eveline the
book, hoping yet that she might be able to distract herself. Eveline, oblivious to her mother’s
distraction, had taken the book in both hands, pulled it to her mouth, and
begun chewing on the corner.
At
Michael’s insistence, Eve had given an example in court to help the jury
understand: “How many of you have ever been given a drug like diazepam as a
sedative before a minor surgical procedure instead of being given a pain
killer?” Eve had asked. “A drug that doesn’t take away pain, but rather takes
away your consciousness, your memory of the pain? That’s what life is like all
the time for non-human animals and humans who lack language abilities. They
feel pain, but they don’t remember it. Not like humans. They are not conscious
of it. Therefore, they do not suffer.”
Eve
took the book from Eveline, who was now trying to tear the pages out, and
selected a poem. “Here’s a good one, Evie. Let’s read this one.” She pulled
Eveline closer to her and held the book in front of her so she could see the
words. “Ready? It’s called ‘A Short Story,’ and it was written by a man named
David Escobar Galindo.
‘The ant climbs up a trunk carrying a petal
on its back . . .’”
That’s
what Michael had forced Eve to testify to: that Brandon did not suffer. That
the head injury Brandon incurred when he was four left him severely brain
damaged and took away his ability for language. Therefore, according to the
syllogism, since Brandon no longer had language, he was no longer conscious of
pain. Despite how difficult it was to accept, according to philosophers and
scientists, marginal humans like Brandon were no longer “persons.” They were no
different than non-human animals. Therefore, if it was legal for Brandon’s
parents to euthanize their dog, it should be legal for them to euthanize
Brandon.
Three
years ago, even one year ago, Michael would not have had to call Eve as a
hostile witness. “Why are you trying to sabotage this?” Michael demanded after
Eve testified. “Your whole career has been built on this.”
“It’s not just
theory any more.” Eve replied, shaking her head. “You, of all people, should
know this. It’s not just other people’s children we’re arguing about any more.”
Eve underlined the
words on the page with her finger as she read the next lines of the poem: “‘and
if you look closely/ that petal is
as big as a house/ especially compared to
the ant that carries it so olympically.’”
In theory, all of it still made
sense. If marginal humans are not really “human,” and they do not suffer, then
why should a healthy chimpanzee, pig, cat, or rat enjoy more or fewer rights
than Brandon? Brandon’s parents were suffering, not Brandon. People don’t
really put their pets or their children out of misery; they put themselves out
of misery. Brandon’s parents, therefore, should be able to decide what was best
for them, and what was best for Brandon.
“’You
ask me: Why couldn’t I carry a petal twice as big as my body and head?’”
Eveline had turned
two a month ago, but had not yet spoken one word. The doctors were still doing
tests. Eve tried not to worry, but the trial was making that difficult. It
wasn’t just about euthanasia. It wasn’t just about Brandon. As much as Eve the
philosopher felt that consistency was the only ethical solution, Eve the parent
worried that consistency would mean she would lose her rights as Eveline’s
mother. That even though she was suffering, she would not be allowed to decide
what was best for herself or for Eveline. If Eveline would just speak . . .
“’Ah,
but you can, little girl . . .’”
Eve managed to read the words on the page, but her thoughts were drowning in
twenty years of research.
If no language equals no pain,
then language equals pain. One hundred and fifty years ago, Moreau thought that
pain was unnecessary in humans because they are intelligent. He understood that
pain had evolved, but mistakenly believed it had evolved in both human and
non-human animals. He was also convinced that pain would, and should,
eventually evolve out of the human species. Obviously, he had overlooked
the importance of language.
“’but not petals from a dahlia . . .’”
Moreau
had made no connection between language and consciousness, or between language
and pain. He, too, saw pain and suffering as a dividing point for humanity, but
he saw it backwards. He thought pain and suffering were what made animals non-human. Eve remembered a passage from
one of his notebooks: “So long as visible or audible pain turns you sick, so
long as your own pain drives you, so long as pain underlies your propositions
about sin, so long, I tell you, you are an animal, thinking a little less
obscurely what an animal feels.”
Eve
had taken Eveline’s hand and was now helping her point to the words as Eve read
them: “’rather boxes full of thoughts
. . .’”
Strauss and Nemur
never made the connection either, which was a pity because Strauss and Nemur
had documented performing operations on animals in 1960 similar to those Moreau
had performed in 1896. Unlike Moreau, however, in addition to experimenting on
non-human animals, Strauss and Nemur had experimented on a human animal named
Charlie Gordon. In their experiment, which was well documented, they didn’t
focus on pain, or even on language; they focused on intellect. And while the
link was not explicitly made, as Charlie’s language abilities improved, he not
only became more intelligent, he became another person. Or, rather, he became a
person. He became conscious of himself and his feelings.
“’and loads of magic hours, and . . .’”
Unfortunately,
as with Moreau’s experiments, the results of Charlie’s operation lasted only
temporarily. Scientists had continued to experiment, but to date none had been
any more successful. Of course, even in the 70s there hadn’t been a demand as
there was now. After today, however . . .
“’a wagon of clear dreams, and . .
.’”
Eve’s voice was
growing loud, impatient. The same rules should apply. But what would winning
the argument mean now? That it was not only acceptable to euthanize infants and
the severely retarded or brain injured, but that it would also be acceptable to
experiment on them, to use them as domestic labor, or to kill them for food? That
sounded like a big leap to those unfamiliar with the argument, but it was not.
Factors such as over-population, flooding, and famine were also part of the
argument, not just pain and language. And . . .
“’a
big castle with its fairies . .
.’”
And what would happen to Eveline? Perhaps infants’ rights would
be protected because they were “potential humans.” But what would be the cutoff
age? Would children have to talk by the time they were eighteen months old? Two
years old? Three? What if Eveline didn’t start speaking soon? Even if Eveline
didn’t suffer, even if Michael didn’t suffer, Eve suffered. What if they took
Eveline away from her? What if . . .
“all the petals that form the soul of a
little girl who speaks and speaks .
. . !”
Eve turned Eveline around so she
was facing her. Eveline was plucking at a daisy appliqué on her shirt. “That’s
right: petals! Say ‘petals’ for Mommy.” Eve was nearly shouting. “Look at me!”
Eve said, grabbing hold of Eveline’s shoulders. Eveline shrank and looked up at
her mother. “Say something!” she commanded her daughter, who, like Eve, had
started to cry. “You are not an
animal. Please. Speak. Little girls speak and speak . . .!”
The shouting and
crying were so loud that Eve did not hear the phone ring, nor did she hear
Carlos step into the room a minute later.
“Speak!’”
Eve sobbed again. She was startled when Carlos spoke instead:
“I’m
terribly sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, but that was Michael on the phone.
You won.”
[1] David
Escobar Galindo, “A Short Story,” Trans. Jorge D. Piche, This Same Sky: A
Collection of Poems from around the World, Selected by Naomi Shihab Nye
(New York: Four-Winds-Macmillan, 1992) 20-21.
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