MY FAITH

I have never participated in organized religion. I wasn't brought up in a religious household, there was little to no talk of spirituality in my upbringing. And yet I've had a strong sense of it for as long as I could remember. Of course I went through the rebellious anti-establishment phase, where god was as bad as government and nothing was important, and I keep a few tinges of that attitude in my personal philosophy still. I think religion as an establishment, especially as a powerhouse, has predominately negative consequences. But as far as my spiritual identity is concerned, I am open to many philosophies and am often inspired by religious doctrine and ritual.

Piscine Patel’s spiritual identity crisis in Life of Pi is something I can particularly relate to. When I was in elementary school, all of my friends were very active in the Christian church. I went to their houses and prayed before dinner. I woke up after a slumber party and went to church with them. I even spent a summer at vacation bible school. To my parents, this was just a side-effect of my social life. But one night at dinner when I asked them why we didn’t pray, and suggested we should, they did not take my new-found religious passion seriously. And rightly so, it was just part of an identity crisis resulting from my unconventional upbringing in a highly conventional neighborhood. But what if I had been serious? What if like Pi, "I just want(ed) to love god(p. 87)?” What if I had felt there was some spirituality, some sense of wholeness, that I was lacking because of my family’s lack of religious faith? They wouldn’t have understood. But at that point, it wouldn’t have mattered. But because my ‘quest for God’ was just an effort to fit in, they made me realize that that kind of conformity is what’s dangerous about religion. By not taking me seriously, they made me realize that spirituality is not about praying before dinner, that it’s not about going to vacation bible school. It’s highly personal, and like for pi, it transcends the boundaries of establishment.

fun-times at vacation bible school

source: http://www.oklahomabrethrenassembly.org/W2vbs.gif

I started my true spiritual journey as an atheist. I did not believe in a singular god who had a continuous presence in our daily lives. But I still believed in a greater meaning – whether it be the harmony of nature or personal success, or simply the quest for joy in life. But as Pi says about atheists, “they

go as far as the legs of reason will take them – and then they leap (p. 35).” My leap is the one that I see all serious scientists –

especially physicists – having to take at some point in their careers. My leap is faith in the infinite, or more precisely, the infinitely small uniform composition of matter. Within that infinite rests a force – the force that causes all physical reality, the first force that determined the history of everything. To believe in this force is to have faith, my faith, in the idea that everything is connected, and everything follows a path of elegant uniformity.

an elegant, uniform universe

source: http://www.fas.org/irp/imint/docs/rst/Sect20/heic0309.jpg

My faith may seem to be purely philosophical in nature, an abstract concept meant to create an elegant meaning of the universe, but I think, like all religion, it has greater humanitarian applications. Like Pi, “to me religion is about our dignity, not our depravity (p. 90),” and in a universe where all pheno

mena can be explained by activity occurring on infinitely smaller scales, our dignity is always maintained. All people – all matter – follow the same laws, despite seemingly different intentions.

TIME TO ACT

Lately it seems the world is trying to tell me something. Everywhere I go, the classes I take, the books I glance through, what I hear on the news or read in periodicals - a common vein of thought has emerged. Apparently, I'm supposed to go out and affect some kind of change. Reach out in the community. Start to organize. The signs are coming at a tough time for me, caught up in a new semester, faced with constant questions of my values, my priorities, my goals. I think its a wakeup call. I need to stop asking so many circuitous questions and start making decisions, start acting on the few things I know for certain. What the world is telling me: I can analyze every angle indefinitely, but I won't get any perspective without experience.

Is changing the world my destiny?
source:http://www.starstore.com/acatalog/destiny-poster-l.jpg

The last chapters of 'How Can I Help?' were just another drop in the bucket of instructions I've been receiving from the universe. When I first saw the chapter titled 'The Way of Social Action', I almost had to laugh. Last week I started out in my TC course, Pathways to Civic Engagement. Already this class - after just two meetings - has brought back so much inspiration that was lying stagnant for a long time. Professor Walker's career history is enough - his path through corporation to non-profit to teaching is exactly the kind of life I've seen for myself. Already I've started picking up books by authors he's suggested. The first I checked out from the library yesterday, and I haven't been able to put it down. The funny thing is that Dass' last few chapters are a near regurgitation of this book, Saul D. Alinsky's 'Rules for Radicals'. Granted Dass uses different language - appealing to those not already attracted to the role of community organization and social action. Dass also makes an assumption that Alinksy directly refutes - that man is fueled by compassion and that it is the motivator in his acts of service. To give a sample of Alinksy's opinion, and his overall civic perspective, he speaks of innate compassion thusly, "the myth of altruism as a motivating factor in our behavior could arise and survive only in a society bundled in the sterile gauze of New England puritanism and protestant morality and tied together with the ribbons of Madison Avenue public relations. It is one of the classic American fairytales." I feel that although Dass makes good points on the nature and requirements of social action, he buys too much into this 'fairytale' of altruism.

Alinsky's 'Rules for Radicals', an especially
inspring book for me.
source: http://jdwaggoner.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/rules-for-radicals.jpg

Both books give a good account of the steps towards social action and the type of thinking required to carry them out. In both cases, I feel that communication is one of the most essential aspects to affecting social change within a community. As Dass says, "even the slightest bit of self-righteousness can get in the way (p. 161)," when trying to help people, directly or indirectly. In terms of organizing around an ideal, people have to see you on equal footing before they take you seriously, and self-aggrandizement can only cause trouble. And yet organizers, leaders, 'helpers', must retain a sense of right-ness, not necessarily righteousness. They must have courage and a strong sense of identity in order to make change happen - to help others help themselves to make the necessary changes. The sign of a truly great organizer is one who can affect change without making any direct movements of control, one who manipulates situations not through power, but through understanding and strength of character - an infectious and positive strength. To do this one must do as Dass suggests, "if we are serious in our criticisms of the practices and habits of helping organizations… we've got to be light, free, and sufficiently above it all to see where we can untangle the knots and bring about change. (p. 199)"

I plan to change something in my life. Be it an organization, a community, a standard, or the world. Now more than ever I realize the paths to doing this are open and varied, but they don't have to be unnavigable, and there are countless stories of success. I hope that by the time I come into my prime, Dass' words will be true that "we're an environment, not an argument for social change. (p. 163)"

WALLOWING IN OUR COMMUNAL HELPLESSNESS

I've been bitter about this book from the very beginning. Perhaps it's because I don't agree with some of Dass' fundamental concepts - that helping others is an innate human quality, that it makes us feel good, that it is the truth of the human condition.

Is this kind of compassion truly innate?
source: http://www.worldproutassembly.org/images/poverty_india11.jpg

Now I may be taking too much of what Dass says at face value - his rhetoric is filled with abstractions and contradictions, so I can really only respond to what I feel are the points he's trying to make through a somewhat subjective analysis of the words he's actually using. I understand the merit of trying to free ourselves from barriers to compassion, but I believe there are some barriers that must stay intact. We can't grant everyone our full attention all the time, we can't sacrifice so much of our ego - our sense of self - that there is nothing left to identify with besides the effect that sacrifice has had on those to whom it was delivered. And what if there is no effect? What if despite all of our openness, our earnest caring and understanding, our constant sacrifice of selfishness - there is no beneficial result?

Is that the equivalent of what Dass calls helplessness? Is this the point at which, "having surrendered into helplessness we can now get on with help (Dass p. 146)?"

I think the contradiction here is obvious. When we get to the point where

we are overwhelmed by the seeming fruitlessness of our labors, when we have spent all we can spend on our own happiness and another's, should we really call ourselves helpless? We have been helping this whole time, to our greatest ability, and yet nothing comes of it. This is not our own helplessness, but rather the inability, the unwillingness, of others to be helped. This is not the time to pick up another's burden once more - to toil on someone else's fallow land.

We should not be expected to
continue to toil on someone else's
fallowed land.
source: http://www.thehindu.com/2006/07/01/images/2006070108860401.jpg

These are the times that remind me, that have reminded me throughout my life, that I am primarily responsible for myself. Dass has warned me of "false facades of courage or self-sufficiency (Dass p. 136)," the things limiting my ultimate acceptance of helplessness and selflessness. But it is exactly those things - courage and self-sufficiency - that make up a large part of who I am, and give me the competence and opportunity to truly help others, if they are willing to accept it, in meaningful and lasting ways. And if that is merely a "false facade", well, I'm going to need a lot more help than anyone outside of myself can give me.

THE LIVES - AND WILLS - OF ANIMALS

In my last response to Elizabeth Costello, I discussed the human bias towards reason as a superior mode of perception. It is this bias that makes us discount animals’ ability to perceive a spectrum of reality that is similar in scope to ours – emotions, pain, compassion, the prospect of death. We assume that because we cannot recognize a comparable faculty of reason within animals, that it must not exist, and they are therefore inferior. But it is not their lacking which is the problem – it is our inability to perceive an ulterior form of perception, to give credit to a phenomenon we cannot observe, that has created this misunderstanding between humans and animals. And yet people still strive to understand this different perception, this different state of being, which animals hold so furtively. In Elizabeth’s lecture, it is the poet who seeks to come closest to uncovering these secrets.

So what is the difference? What is the intangible essence of being that animals posses which we do not, and cannot define? If they don’t see the world through our lens of reason, what lens do they see it through? Instinct? Survival? Or something else entirely? Costello uses the example of poets Rilke and Hughes, their attempts to posses, or be possessed by, the being of animals; to capture the feeling, the being, the perception of a beast. Both poets recognize a will of animals, a will that powers their being, which asserts itself in their movements and in their very presence. We cannot describe what powers this will of animals, but, as in Rilke’s poem, we can determine what breaks it. In the cage, the panther exists, and continues to move, yet, “inside, a gigantic Will stands stunned and numbed (Rilke, anthology, 372).” Costello describes it as this, “a concentric lope that leaves the will stupefied, narcotized (Coetzee, 95).” So perhaps an animal’s will comes from its freedom of movement – its existence in space, in nature, from where it draws all its stimuli and channels all of its responses. Because if an animal’s perception is not contained within the frame of its own mind, within a network of reasoning and deduction, it must be free to exist outside of the mind, to move with what is being perceived – as Costello says, “his consciousness is kinetic rather than abstract (Coetzee, 95).” Does this mean animals have a greater ability to project into their environments? To have a confidence, and assertiveness, of movement and of being that is limited by the human need for rational order, for cognition over impulse? We cannot know, because of that very limitation. To get close to how animals feel and think, we must let go of the backbone of our consciousness – reason – and feel blindly, as Costello describes, “Hughes is feeling his way towards a different kind of being-in-the-world (Coetzee, 95).”

An affront to the will of animals, confinement.
http://lh5.ggpht.com/yoni.alon/R0ljYgnFTNI/AAAAAAAAATA/KGbSY34AE7Y/76a80e6e_SAFARI2520033.jpg

What drives poets to want to capture the mystery of animals? Is it the same thing that draws people to zoos? That creates an audience for programming devoted solely to documenting animals in their natural state? We recognize the mystery in the lives of animals, just as we recognize the mystery of the cosmos, and so we seek to explore it further, we are engaged, fascinated by that mystery. One would think that the idea of animals containing some force that we don’t know about would be a concession to their equality with humans, and yet we continue to treat them as inferiors. This is the contradiction that comes with our fascination – we see the beauty, the mystery, the magnetism of animals; and yet we destroy them, thoughtlessly.

This destruction has not always been a contradiction. Costello makes the case for primitivism, as addressed by poets such as Hughes. Primitivism is a celebration of the animal, “a contest, a ritual, and honour (Coetzee, 97).” When we must face the creature we are about to destroy, match it in physical strength and dexterity and reaction (a cognitive prowess), we are conceding to it an equivalence, making it something that must be earned, that is not ours by right, not innately inferior. We destroy animals not because we have contempt for their existence, but because we recognize the power and the sustenance they give us. If this were how we got all of our meat, by matching ourselves against animals in their natural state, by earning their destruction, I would not mind eating it. But if that was how we got all of our meat, we would never have had the time to develop human civilization – of which the relative importance is a whole other discussion. And so we abandoned primitivism out of what most consider necessity, and here is where the contradictions emerge.

The Eagle, an animal we admire and revere.
http://www.desktopwallpapers8.com/images/wmwallpapers/flying-eagle-1.jpeg

Humans still hold a primitive fascination with animals – a desire to run with the wolf, fly with the eagle, swing through the jungle with the monkey. Yet, as Costello’s son reflects, “You won’t get a bunch of Australians standing around a sheep, listening to its silly baa, writing poems about it (Coetzee, 100).” We are biased in the animals we choose to revere, and it is no coincidence that the ones we don’t choose show up on our dinner tables. The ones we continue to admire are the ones who remain free – who retain that mysterious will, the power of being that we struggle to define. We recognize that an animal’s freedom is what makes it beautiful, and yet we take it away. We take away what makes animals powerful, unique, and proceed to slaughter them. We do not feel for them because we do not see the power, the being, that we are destroying, because we have already stifled it. And yet despite our stifling, who is to say that it is gone? This could be an argument for either side. On one hand, if we have deprived animals of what defines their perception, their will – their free movement in nature – than they no longer have that will to live, and their deaths are of no moral consequence. But on the other side, a creature’s will to live is immutable, and though we may have reduced animals to their base function, depriving them of an opportunity to flourish, the will exists, trapped, tortured, rebelling until death. Hughes suggests as much in “The Jaguar”-
“By the bang of blood in the brain deaf the ear-
He spins from the bars, but there’s no cage to him
More than to the visionary his cell:
His stride is wildernesses of freedom” (Anthology, 375)

We cannot assume that an animal is simpler than a human, that its will is easier to break. And we cannot deny that there exists a will – we concede to its existence in our art, poetry, and educational programming. So we must live with a contradiction, or seek to resolve it.

THE LIVES - AND MINDS - OF ANIMALS

I had many acute responses – skeptical and celebratory – to Elizabeth Costello, her character and her lectures. I was a little discouraged, however, to see these responses similarly outlined in the commentary in our course anthology. My little gems of enlightened post-its seem perfunctory now, moot points.

The main ideas I found to share with the commentators were the arguments on the relative importance of beings by Singer and the focus on eastern religion by Doniger. Both posed the questions, found the flaws, of Costello’s argument that I did.

Do the inherent differences between man and animal create a disparity in their worth? Or do they negate that perceived disparity as a symptom of narrow-mindedness? Singer argues the former, Costello the latter, and neither convinces me entirely. So I think I’m left with a question which, at least for now, I wont seek to answer.

Is there a scale to measure the
relative worth of beings?
source: http://hollis333.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/scales_of_justice.jpg

On the other hand, Doniger discusses all of the points that immediately came to mind as O’ Hearne claimed that compassion for animals was a modern, western concept. Granted, O ‘Hearne does specify the “obligation to animals themselves (Coetzee, 106)” rather than the hope for human well-being or salvation that is often the case of animal veneration in eastern religions. Yet his, and ultimately Coetzee’s, complete omission of eastern tradition in the issue of animal treatment seems like a gross oversight. Be it calculated or careless, I think it weakens both arguments considerably.

Costello could’ve used the examples of eastern tradition, as Doniger discusses at length, to present two arguments. The first, that humans have associated the cruelty to and killing of animals with evil, or moral depravity, for hundreds of years. Even if in their own interests, the idea that killing or harming an animal is an affront to god, an affront to one’s own soul, definitely gives animals more worth than is ascribed to them in western religion, even when viewed through a “compassionate” western lens. In western tradition, animals are lesser, more innocent creatures, and we should protect them because of their weakness and because of our strength. In the east however, animals posses souls of equal value to those of humans, and are regarded as equals by the gods, and so must be preserved for the preservation of man’s own being - man must share his right to exist. On top of this, Doniger points out that eastern tradition calls for a heightened moral consciousness in man, “the… argument that we know that they are going to die, and that that makes it bad for us to kill them. (Anthology, 351)” Costello does not use this eastern perspective in her argument. She does however, criticize one thing that eastern and western tradition have in common, though it manifests differently in both, and that is the use of god as justification – scapegoat – for the killing of animals. Doniger discusses examples of this at length, and so I won’t repeat them.
The veneration of the cow in
Hindu tradition.
source: http://www.harekrsna.com/gallery/krsna1/krsna1.jpg

Although Coetzee omits specific religious ideas in Costello’s argument, there is much discussion of God. Yet it is the abstract God of western tradition that Costello depicts, not the anthropomorphic Gods of the east. It is the God referred to in irony, in an attempt to undermine the very notion of God, and thus to undermine the doctrines of a God that says we are different than animals, that we were created in a different image, with a different worth. Costello calls it “the God of reason (Coetzee, 67)” and suggests it is a false god – not “the being of the universe (67)” against which man and animal are measured and separated. It is a construct, a faculty given too much value, a device twisted to become exclusionary. Man can reason, animal cannot, and reason is thus superior to all other faculties – even those which animals posses and we lack. Through our reason we may be able to unlock certain “secrets of the universe,” but we can only describe them insofar as reason allows, and having become so enamored with reason as to disregard other forms of perception, we limit ourselves, and at the same time feel we posses such higher cognition than the animals who remain unfettered, subject only to the reality of nature, not the constructs of man. The idea that reason is the penultimate method of understanding is a flaw in how we view our own cognition and especially in how we seek to distinguish ourselves from animals. Reason is the God which, as Costello would argue, we use to justify the killing of animals. Reason is the scapegoat, the excuse, for our cruelty, and reason is why we must have a scapegoat to begin with. Reason is how we try to answer the question I posed at the beginning – do our inherent differences give us different worth? The God of Reason says that yes, our cognitive faculties make us superior to those with a different sort of cognition. It says that it is no matter if animals feel, if they love, if they empathize - only if they reason, in our terms and in ways we understand, could they be our equals. This is the fallacy of man - a comfortable fallacy that not only leads us towards depravity, towards cruelty, but that goes so far as to limit what is good in us - our vast cognition, our capacity for several modes of perception.

EMPATHY, SYMPATHY, AND COMPASSION

What is the difference between the “specific talent(s)”(Dick, 124) of empathy, sympathy, and compassion? When I read the anthology definitions and the abstractions website, and then applied them to what I was reading in Androids, I was faced with numerous contradictions. It seems that one thing they all have in common is that they are unquantifiable – and rightly so. Because if we could truly quantify these aspects which, as argued in our last discussion, make us uniquely human, we could then apply that knowledge to non-human things – in Dick’s case, androids.

We are warned against the dangers of abstractions, but what about the danger of trying to define, to quantify, the things that truly are abstract? I base my view of abstraction on the Oxford English Dictionary definition “the idea of something which has no independent existence.”(Abstractions website) Basically, something which is subjective, that cannot exist without reference to other phenomena – be they tangible or imagined. In this way, our concepts of empathy, sympathy, and compassion truly are abstractions. The only differences to be found between them are in how they are carried out – how they are manifested in human actions. However, those actions do not define their nature – as their nature is intangible, abstract as the emotions that they produce and are produced by. So the nature of empathy, sympathy, and compassion is subject to the emotional context they are being viewed in, and thus leaves their “definition” open to much debate and inconsistency.

Perhaps then we shouldn’t try to define these concepts, but rather allow them to be innate, intangible qualities we recognize in ourselves and in others – not only through their actions, but through some immeasurable response in their person – a gut feeling, pulled heartstrings, etc.; all abstract rhetorical devices used to explain something that is not concrete, but that we know exists. So is the nature of empathy, sympathy, and compassion. Why then is Rick Deckard’s “gut feeling” not enough to distinguish humans from androids? They can’t project sympathy onto him, can’t empathize, are not drawn to compassion – they posses none of the human subtleties, none of the intangibles, that we sense in one another. So why is Deckard fooled by their ability to synthesize such reactions, through their words and actions?

Androids may seem to have human emotions,
but merely mimic them through their actions.
source: http://loyalkng.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/robot-love.jpg

This question helps to elucidate the nature of how we classify actions as being empathetic, sympathetic, or compassionate. They are all a result of how we project our own feelings, and can only be comprehended within the frames of our individual selves. They can also only be fully realized, fully observed, as we see them inside ourselves – we cannot honestly make judgments on the motives of others – even the intangible feelings we get from them could be merely projections of our own feelings, our desire to fill the gap between individuals, to support the idea of our capacity for co-feeling. But this desire gets in the way when trying to determine, as Deckard must, who possesses these uniquely human emotions and who does not.

As I said earlier, empathy, sympathy, and compassion are emotions that cannot be quantified. However, in 2021, and admittedly in our own age, humans have found ways to do just that. What is empathy? A subtle spasm in the eye muscles at the mention of a mounted deer head. What is sympathy? Compassion? Neuroscientists would say they’re the result of a precise sequence of neural firings, a combination of chemical compounds, a reaction not to a person, but to an electric signal. None of the definitions in the anthology follow this line of thinking, this new capacity for quantifying emotions. So we must ask ourselves – will we ever be satisfied with a quantifiable definition of our emotions? Or is it that which we cannot define – the intangible, the abstract – which makes them meaningful, which makes them human?

The definitions and the analysis by Walter Jackson Bate on page 274O do not attempt to describe empathy, sympathy, and compassion as independent forces, but rather describe them in terms of their effects – on the subject and the object. Both rely heavily on general terms – citing things such as “feelings”, “projecting one’s personality”, and “the fundamental reality and inner working.”(Anthology, 274J-O) What does any of this signify? Only how little we are able to articulate about our specific emotions without referencing some equally-as-vague construct. As it seems in Bate’s analysis, the more we try to explain these intangibles, the more we contradict ourselves. I’d love to go into an analysis of these contradictions, but I feel I’ve gotten far enough away from the issue of Dick’s novel already, and so I’ll take this opportunity to leave you with my vague assertions and circle back around.

So, Deckard cannot rely on his emotional responses in dealing with androids, but must remain detached – observing in them only that which is quantifiable. The issue arises when he cannot help but to project his own emotions onto the androids – specifically female androids. He reflects on how “it was an odd sensation, knowing intellectually that they were machines, but emotionally reacting anyhow.”(Dick, 95) This just proves that we create emotion where it doesn’t exist – not unlike forced relationships, with false constructs of love left clinging to a semblance of human connectivity. This is the world of 2021, where emotions – empathy included – have become hard to come by in their honest forms. It is not only that Deckard must struggle to believe that androids don’t posses emotions, but that he struggles with the idea that humans are equally as devoid of emotion, and that theirs might be of the same construct as the androids’ – synthetic or imagined. He shows this when he thinks, “most androids I’ve known have more vitality and desire to live than my wife. She has nothing to give me.” And so the constructs of empathy, sympathy, and compassion are essentially the same, despite their differences in application – they come from a selfish desire, or perhaps even a need, to experience the emotions of others – to remind ourselves that we are among other living, feeling beings, that we are not alone in our suffering or our joy. Perhaps this is why androids are threatening – because they refute that belief. Androids show us that we cant really tell who is feeling and who isn’t, that our ideas of sympathy, empathy, and compassion could merely be constructs of our own desire for that reality – a co-feeling reality in which we are all connected and our emotions for each other are real – real beyond the concrete, real in the way that only an abstraction can be.
Is this shared emotion real? We like to think so.
source:http://www.openhandweb.org/files/openhand/images//HuggingKidsSmall%5B4%5D.jpg

ALICE AND ANIMALS DISCUSSION OUTLINE

Lewis Carroll uses many devices to comment on the human relationship with and treatment of animals in both Alice books. How do these devices, these characters, and these interactions reflect on the larger question of animal treatment, in the books and in our world today?

DISTINCTIONS BETWEEN HUMANS AND ANIMALS

Before we can discuss how animals are treated in the books, we must first see how Carroll treats them as characters. Which traits does he develop in these animals and what do they signify? What point is Carroll trying to make about the distinction between humans and animals?

KATHERINE:
“Carroll wants his readers to notice that animals clearly have their own worth outside of the lives of humans.”
“Carroll also demonstrates an animal’s worth by showing the deer’s sense of identity.”

MOLLY:
“By introducing us to characters like a weeping Mock Turtle, a Caterpillar with a Napoleon complex (kind of), a fearful mother Pigeon, and a greedy, conniving Walrus, the author forces us to see human qualities in wild animals and savagery in ourselves.”

CHRIS:
“Our author brings into question an animal’s ability to communicate, feel, love, and reason. So, is there a distinction between the actions of humans amongst animals, versus animals amongst themselves?”
“The moral consequences of eating an egg become more apparent when its mother can argue and attack you.”
“…one can hardly distinguish the differences between human and animal in his imaginative world.”

LAUREN:
“Humans and animals both have deep emotions? SAME PERSON.”

SPIN:
“I believe he emphasizes this by making these animals as human-like as possible – so we as readers could take out the descriptions of the animals, replace them with human descriptions, and read the book never knowing that Alice was kicking a talking lizard named Bill but rather kicking a talking person named Bill. Would Alice kick a man named Bill for no obvious reason? I doubt it. Carroll’s human/animal parallel is drawn effectively in this way.”

THUYEN:
“Carroll’s personification of the animals in the Alice books further serves the purpose of equalizing man and animals.”

TREATMENT OF ANIMALS

Having recognized the distinctions Carroll consciously makes between humans and animals, how does Alice struggle with this distinction, or lack thereof? How does this relationship affect Alice’s treatment of the animals in wonderland and looking-glass world?


CALLIE:
“Lewis Carroll’s failure to differentiate between animals and humans in Alice and Wonderland poses the interesting question: Why do we treat animals as inferior to humans?”

LAUREN:
“…we dehumanize animals just because they don't communicate and act the same way as us and therefore allow ourselves to treat them unethically, although lack of understanding for animals is not a “good and sufficient cause” (Anthology, 329) for this unethical treatment.”
“…the astounding difference in Alice's treatment of animals that arises when they DO communicate and act like humans. I think that animals possess a lot of the same traits as us, but we fail to recognize these similarities because we are blinded by what separates us, such as the ability to talk”

SPIN:
“Carroll uses the narrow-minded lens through which Alice views the animals around her to make obvious that treatment of animals as if they are worth less than we as humans, or as if their feelings are any less real or important as ours, is simply wrong”

KATHERINE:
“While Carroll writes about an animal’s individual worth, he also demonstrates how humans and animals may coexist.”

ANIMALS AS PETS

Although many animals in the books are characterized as humans, Carroll still emphasizes the difference in Alice’s treatment of animals she regards as pets. What does this connection to our pets say about our treatment of animals overall? What is hypocritical about our attitudes towards pets? How does Alice illustrate this hypocrisy in her dealings with non-domestic animals?

EMILY:
“Many people learn to accept animals as their best friends or members of their family, proving that they see animals “more and more the aspect of gentle friends” (Course Anthology 320).”

KATHERINE:
“Perhaps Carroll is suggesting that if we could see all animals as we see our pets, we might treat them all much better.”

SPIN:
“Especially, I think, is this true with pets, for we feed them, we keep their environment clean, we control much of their lifestyle. We are in a position of power over them to the point where it is difficult to put ourselves on their level and truly understand what is going on in their minds.”

CHANGES IN ALICE’S TREATMENT OF ANIMALS

How does Alice’s attitude towards animals change as the books progress, especially towards the end of Through the Looking Glass? What assertion might Carroll be making with this shift in behavior?

JADE:
“… when Alice herself becomes a Queen, a transition Carroll uses to represent her coming of age, she seems to lose her initial patience and fascination with the creatures.”

EMILY:
“One major trend I’ve noticed is that children are usually more sympathetic to animals than adults are. Combined with a greater sense of imagination as well as a tendency to be naturally compassionate (due to their innocence I presume), children, no matter how they end up as they get older…are more likely to sympathize with animals.”

WHAT IS CARROLL TELLING US?

Carroll’s inclusion of animals in the books and his outrageous crafting of their individual and absurd characters makes it clear that they are meant to represent some larger truth about the human relationship with animals, and perhaps about the human condition in general. What truth is he trying to convey?

HELEN:
“Through her mistakes, Lewis Carroll warns us against indulging our carelessness and selfishness. Through her moments of kindness, Lewis Carroll inspires us to change. In the end, Lewis Carroll reminds us that all creatures of the world are just as worthy as we are to be treated fairly and compassionately, to live and exist harmoniously.”

SPIN:
“I think that was one of Carroll’s goal with his Alice books – to allow us to examine our own convictions and question our own ideals, especially with respect to animals”

THUYEN:
“Only when we can really look pass the surface of differences and judge based on fundamental similarities can we view animals as equals to extend our compassion towards them.”

MAYSIE:
“Throughout Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass, Carroll again and again thoroughly unites man and nature. Kittens as the Red and White Queens, talking flowers, Cheshire Cat with clear and cool logic- countless points are made that we are all connected, we are all the same.”