Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Pain and Suffering: Pro/Con

The last post on consciousness was a part of a larger conversation that I've enjoyed with several friends elsewhere. In response to some expressions of interest, I've requested, and those friends have kindly given their, consent to my posting, here, a larger segment of that discussion.

The formatting is a work in progress...

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Pain and Suffering: Pro/Con

Post #1
(greenfrog)
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Perfunktory,

Since I don't want to derail too far the vegetarian thread, I thought I'd respond to your "pain might be good" point (my paraphrase) with its own thread here.

Over there, Perfunktory wrote:

greenfrog wrote:
Based on your subsequent comments on this thread, I infer that you really don't stand by the idea that pain and suffering are desirable

I do feel pain and suffering are somewhat desirable. I have a good amount of value for the pain and suffering I've experienced and if I had the option, I don't think I would want those experiences to be forgotten. I think you identified this same sentiment with your quote of what Eve said.

I certainly agree that we can use pain and suffering in positive ways. That is, in essence, the reason that I believe evolution selected for consciousness in the first place -- to enable organisms to choose to override previously automatic avoidance mechanisms in situations when enduring even more pain and suffering might be adaptive.

Still, the point I was trying (ineptly) to make in that post was that the basis of morality is the belief that inflicting pain and suffering on another without a countervailing reason is wrong.

I'll try to clarify the distinction I see with a few examples of potential applications of the "pain can be ok" theory. I'll start with potential applications of that theory to another individual, then we can get a little more abstract with respect to society at large:

1. It is proper to inflict pain on another person only when the infliction of pain is a side-effect of an action that is beneficial to the person. This kind of proposition applies in situations such as a doctor might face in deciding whether to perform surgery to correct an otherwise fatal heart defect. Yes, pain is one of the results of the corrective procedure, but there is an objective being sought that, if obtained, will be more important than the pain resulting from the surgery.

Note -- doctors don't usually perform surgery without getting the patient's consent, because our society usually grants to the patient the right to make the cost/benefit decision about the cons of pain vs. the pros of heart defect correction.

In this kind of situation, with or without consent, because the pain associated with the procedure is not the direct objective of the procedure, doctors go out of their way to minimize the pain effects -- using anesthesia (local and general), as well as administering analgesics following surgery to minimize the pain the patient experiences.

2. It is proper to inflict pain on another person when the infliction of pain is the immediately intended objective, if the objective cannot be obtained as effectively using means that do not require the infliction of pain.

Note -- this is operant conditioning. I tend to think that use of negative operant conditioning performed on persons capable of providing consent without the person's actual consent is generally immoral, but I'm willing to agree that there are cases in which it is ok.

The most obvious common example of this kind of action is the use of parentally inflicted punishment to modify the actions of children. The parent identifies a behavior they want to discourage. S/he then devises a way to inflict pain on the child, whether psychological or physical. Then, the parent tries to link rhetorically the infliction of pain with the child's behavior. "I had to spank you because you spit on Jenny."

Despite the usual rhetoric that is used in such situations, the infliction of pain is not an automatic "by-product" or "natural consequence" of the child's action. Nor is the same as a doctor's causation of pain that is purely a by-product of the surgery in Item 1, above. The obvious way to distinguish between ##1 and 2 is that in #1, the doctor uses available means to minimize the by-product of pain. In #2, the pain is, itself, the immediate objective of the parent's action, and the action would be pointless to the extent that the inflicted pain were minimized.

3. It is proper to inflict pain on another person, even if it is not beneficial in any way to that particular person, so long as it is beneficial to me or to something I care about.

(Let's hold this one in abeyance for a minute and fill out the rest of the spectrum, since this one is the usual justification for inflicting pain and suffering on others with minimal or no benefit to the other.)

4. It is proper to inflict pain on another in category X because category X doesn't matter, so pain on category X is irrelevant.
This is an argument sometimes offered to justify inflicting pain on animals. Note that while "animals" might be used to fill in the "category X" designation in this reasoning, so too, might many other designations, some of which could include various subsets of humans. I would submit that whatever one may think of ##1 and 2, above, this reasoning is immoral. Inflicting pain, without intending some necessarily-linked and countervailing upside, is immoral.

Example: while walking down the street, I see a creature in category X (human, canine, or whatever). I smack the creature on the head -- causing pain -- and I do so for no reason other than that I want to smack it in the head, though I'm indifferent to whether or not my smack causes pain. Am I correct that you would consider my actions immoral, or do you see a justification for my action? IOW, are there any situations in which you would contend that my action in this regard was, itself, good?

Note, -- while I can imagine situations in which the recipient of the action might turn the experience of being smacked in the head into something good in her/his/its life, IMO, that doesn't affect the morality of the action itself. If the conclusion were otherwise, then no action would be immoral, so long as the recipient of the action might subjectively transform the experience (including the pain) into something positive.

5. It is proper to inflict pain on another because I like to inflict pain on others.
I view this reasoning as immoral, and probably psychopathic. Are there situations in which it is justifiable that I haven't thought of?

Whatever one may think of the rightness or wrongness of situations 1 and 2, in both of them, the inflictor of pain has at least a theoretical upside to benefit the sufferer of the pain offset the clear downside associated with the pain, itself.

From my perspective, as I've suggested it here, I think that 1 and 2 are potentially justifiable under commonly held views of morality, and I think that 4 and 5 are fundamentally immoral. Do you agree? If so, then we should take a closer look at 3. My sense is that you may differ with me on 4, but I'm not sure. If we're not yet on common ground about 1, 2, 4, and 5, I think we should try to resolve those "easier" cases before trying to find common ground on 3.

Also, before we waltz toward 3, are there other variants we should consider, first?
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Post #2:
(Perfunktory)
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I can say that I think I'm on the same page with you about #1, 2 and 5.

greenfrog wrote:

Am I correct that you would consider my actions immoral, or do you see a
justification for my action? IOW, are there any situations in which you would
contend that my action in this regard was, itself, good?

I can't think of any situation in which I would say your actions were good.

That being said, I'm not sure I understand the difference between #4 and 5. Is the only difference that in #5, the benefit derived is the joy of the person causing the pain?

Also, one point about #5. I can see it as morally acceptable for someone to pull a pain-inflicting prank on the other individual. I think there are good reasons to find value in those types of pranks, but I can also see good reasons for someone not finding value in such a prank.

Separately, I also think there can be room for Schadenfreude that is morally acceptable. I'm not entirely convinced of this, but if someone is taking pleasure in the consequences of another's actions, consequences that were in no way brought about by the observer, nor was there a reasonably opportunity for the observer to intervene, then I think Schadenfreude can be morally acceptable.
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Post #3:
(greenfrog)
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The only difference I see between 4 and 5 is that in 4, one is indifferent to the infliction of pain, because of the "category X" nature of the recipient of the pain, while in 5, one affirmatively enjoys causing another pain. I describe the cases differently, because one might agree with the category X argument (though I don't), but still conclude that 5 is immoral.

The distinction comes up sometimes in legal discussions of animal rights. Some contend that any "humane treatment" laws should be taken as evidence of a tacit support in society for some form of limited rights belonging to animals. Others (those who would allow type 4 conduct, but not type 5) contend that the reason type 5 conduct is prohibited has nothing to do with the animals or their experience of pain/inhumane treatment, but solely because (they argue) society has concluded that those who take pleasure in inflicting pain on animals today will take pleasure in inflicting pain on humans tomorrow. IOW, they argue that the experience of the animal is irrelevant to the rationale for humane treatment laws.

If we're on the same page for 1, 2, 4, and 5, then let's explore 3.

3. It is proper to inflict pain on another person, even if it is not beneficial in any way to that particular person, so long as it is beneficial to me or to something I care about.

There are two distinct dimensions of application 3 that I discuss below, but it's important to emphasize that application 3 assumes that the recipient of the pain does not consent to the action -- if s/he/it does consent, then we're in an entirely different moral setting:

Dimension A. Non-identity of recipient of pain and beneficiary of pain.
To justify this practice, we have to be willing to treat others as means, rather than ends -- we de-humanize (to borrow a phrase) them by denying them basic self-determination.

The US government has done this in a variety of ways, ranging from drafting people who are killed in combat to promulgating redistributive taxation systems. I'm not sure if those two examples really capture the entire spectrum of ways that our society does this, but they at least serve to illustrate that there are varying degrees of pain the US inflicts on unwilling victims to benefit others. Groups as diverse as Gandhian non-violence types and Ezra Taft Bensonian small government types have argued against the morality of some of the actions along this spectrum.

I haven't fully formulated my thinking about this set of "benefit to one vs. harm to another" cases, but I'm hard pressed to articulate an argument I can stomach to justify harming one person against her/his will because I like so much the benefit that I obtain for myself by imposing that harm on the other.

But assuming that this can be acceptable in some circumstances, we then have to address the second dimension:

Dimension B. Weighing the upside to one against the downside to another.
Once we get past the Dimension A issue, we still have to evaluate what degree of benefit should offset what degree of harm/pain/suffering.

Potential conclusions:

3.B.1. Any degree of benefit is enough to justify any degree of harm
3.B.2. A significant benefit (i.e., not soley a minimal benefit) is enough to justify any harm.
3.B.3. A significant benefit is enough to justify any harm, so long as the harm involved is limited to that required to attain the benefit.
3.B.4. Some magnitude of harm to an individual can outweigh even a significant benefit to others.

(Are there others that should be included here? I'm not sure...)

3.B.1. Any degree of benefit is enough to justify the worst degree of harm possible

I think that this position is rejected if application #4 is rejected, assuming that satisfying a mere whim to smack someone on the head is about as little benefit as one can imagine. Also, it's worth noting that, as we've seen in Iraq, there are worse things than a relatively painless death.

3.B.2. A significant benefit (i.e., not soley a minimal benefit) is enough to justify any harm.

This is the argument that gets made in connection with the "should torture be legal" hypotheticals of recent vintage. The most compelling of those hypotheticals goes something like this: Suppose that a person knows where a nuclear bomb is located, which is set to go off in five days, but the person refuses to tell you where it is. Would you authorize torture of that person (even if s/he wasn't responsible for its being built and set) to find out where it is located?

Again, if we can get over the morality of A, at some extreme of benefit to be obtained, we'd ok torture.

3.B.3. A significant benefit is enough to justify any harm, so long as the harm involved is limited to that required to attain the benefit.

Still working with the torture hypothetical, if a moderate beating is enough to obtain the information, is it ok to inflict more pain and suffering than is necessary? I recognize that in some situations, the typical response is, "no one knows how much might be required," so the torture example starts to break down. But here's where the distinction between pain and suffering, on the one hand, and death, on the other, can play into the thinking. When this principle of morality is applied to livestock[** see below], the question is not whether they're going to die -- if we get past dimension A, in some instances, the animal is going to die to become food for humans. The 3.B.3 question is this: given that the animals are going to die, is there any moral obligation to make those deaths as free of pain and suffering as possible?

While I'm skeptical that it's ethical to get past dimension A at all, if we can manage that, I think the answer to this question is unquestionably "yes, we are morally obligated to minimize the animal's pain and suffering" or, hearking back to the torture example, "yes, we are morally obligated to not inflict more pain and suffering than is needed to obtain the information about the bomb's location." Phrased this way, I don't think this is a controversial conclusion, but I'm prepared to have others tell me I'm wrong about that.

3.B.4. Some magnitude of harm to an individual can outweigh even a significant benefit to others.

Again, assuming we can get past 3.A, I think at different points along the scale of significant benefit, this should be true -- IOW, even among those benefits that we deem significant, we might still find a particular harm to another to be too great to be justified by the benefit.

So how do these various concepts play out in the moral decision for me to become vegetarian?[** see below] I think that the question is resolved no later than 3.B.3: the manner in which livestock are treated does not minimize their pain and suffering. Indeed, industrial agricultural practices appear to be calculated solely to maximize profit, in part by minimizing competitive market prices. For me, the question is actually more easily resolved at 3.B.2: I have determined that I am perfectly capable of living without eating animal flesh. I do not evaluate my pleasure at the flavor of beef as more than a whim, certainly not enough to justify my killing and eating another person. For reasons that we can explore back on the vegetarian thread, even supposing that various gradations of consciousness should factor into the level of pain I'm willing to inflict on another for my personal benefit, I don't feel that the difference in consciousness between humans and other mammals is enough to get me to conclude that my taste for meat is enough to deprive another of life.

Your thoughts?

[**][Edit: I realized a half hour ago that there is another dimension of analysis that should eventually be discussed explicitly that I assumed in this structure: that the existence of consciousness in both humans and non-humans (and therefore of pain and suffering) requires that we apply our ethical principles to our interactions with both humans and non-humans. I've structured most of this post in the context of human-to-human relationships. I elided the analysis to make the now-asterisked points about human-to-animal relationships. There may be utility in discussing that step explicitly, rather than implicitly, as I've done here.]

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Post #4:
(Perfunktory)
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greenfrog wrote:

So how do these various concepts play out in the moral decision for me to become vegetarian?[** see below] I think that the question is resolved no later than 3.B.3: the manner in which livestock are treated does not minimize their pain and suffering. Indeed, industrial agricultural practices appear to be calculated solely to maximize profit, in part by minimizing competitive market prices.
I agree, I think industrial agriculture has a long way to go in this respect.

greenfrog wrote:

For me, the question is actually more easily resolved at 3.B.2: I have determined that I am perfectly capable of living without eating animal flesh. I do not evaluate my pleasure at the flavor of beef as more than a whim, certainly not enough to justify my killing and eating another person.

I do like the taste of meat, but I wouldn't say I love it. I also don't feel like I'm engaging in this discussion to defend my right to eat a juice t-bone steak. As such, and for reasons I've tried to articulated on the vegetarian thread, I don't see my choice to eat meat as merely a whim. I feel I can respect the consciousness and life of animals and still choose to eat their meat.

greenfrog wrote:

For reasons that we can explore back on the vegetarian thread, even supposing that various gradations of consciousness should factor into the level of pain I'm willing to inflict on another for my personal benefit, I don't feel that the difference in consciousness between humans and other mammals is enough to get me to conclude that my taste for meat is enough to deprive another of life.
And I feel that my choice to eat meat is of greater overall benefit than the life I am conscientiously (though indirectly) taking. I respect your choice and feel that I better understand your thought process. I appreciate you taking such extensive time to articulate your thoughts on this issue.

greenfrog wrote:

I realized a half hour ago that there is another dimension of analysis that should eventually be discussed explicitly that I assumed in this structure: that the existence of consciousness in both humans and non-humans (and therefore of pain and suffering) requires that we apply our ethical principles to our interactions with both humans and non-humans.
I'm interested in your view of the relationships between non-humans and non-humans. Which, if any, of the above categories would you understand an animals choice to hunt and kill another animal? How do you understand a cat's choice to toy with a mouse before eventually killing it? Do you feel any responsibility (as impractical as it may be) to try to minimize the pain and suffering inflicted by animals on other animals?
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Post #5:
(greenfrog)
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Quote:
I'm interested in your view of the relationships between non-humans and non-humans. Which, if any, of the above categories would you understand an animals choice to hunt and kill another animal?
To answer your question, of course, I have to guess at what goes on in an animals' brain when it makes a decision. I would hasten to note that I don't presume that the same thoughts, notions or instincts occur in the brain of an orca and in the brain of Rascal (the bichon frisee who hangs out at our house). Nor do I even suppose that the same thoughts occur in Rascal as in Taco, the chihuahua/poodle (not a blend made in heaven) that lives down the road from us, even though they're both Canis familiaris. But with that as a preface, I suspect that much of mammal thinking occurs along the lines of #4 -- the animals distinguish between their own offspring and those that are not their offspring. Those that are not offspring are category-X, for which any action is acceptable because the animals do not identify sufficiently with those category-X-ers to provide the animal with any reason to sacrifice desire on their behalf.

Some animals that extend their notions of identity beyond offspring to an extended social group (humans, prairie dogs, cattle, yaks, dogs, horses -- there are lots of these). Sometimes, those identifications (and consequent exclusion from the category-X) go beyond even species boundaries. Hence, Rascal, a creature a friend of mine succinctly described once as "a bit of lint...with teeth," steps up to the line when he thinks my wife or I are threatened by another dog running loose in the neighborhood. (All of those facts and notions are, I think, embedded in the "familiaris" part of the species name.)

But aside from such kinds of situations, I believe most animals have a relatively narrow notion of social identity, which results from their relatively more limited (relative to humans, that is) faculties to process abstract thought.

Quote:

How do you understand a cat's choice to toy with a mouse before eventually killing it?
Type 4 thinking -- I don't imagine that a cat thinks a mouse is within the group that the cat identifies with, the group to which it extends empathy. But watching a mother cat care for and carry around her kittens, it's seems pretty clear from the outside that she is capable of extending empathy to creatures beyond herself. But not so far as the mice.

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Do you feel any responsibility (as impractical as it may be) to try to minimize the pain and suffering inflicted by animals on other animals?
Other than for animals within my immediate care (Rascal, for instance), no, I don't. We haven't had reason to get into such notions in this discussion previously, but part of my extension of identity and empathy to animals stems from my understandings and beliefs about deep ecology and Gaia theory.

In some ways, what we have been discussing so far are the micro-applications of ethics to interactions with other forms of life. There is, IMO, also a macro-application of ethics to other forms of life that merits attention. The interconnections, interdependencies, and web of relationships that exist in the world suggest to me that in some ways, it is more meaningful to speak of ourselves as a part of Gaia than as independent beings. Within the context of Gaia, humans appear to have the greatest capacity for developing consciousness (though I always remind myself when thinking such thoughts this: we really haven't any idea of what goes on in the brains of similiarly complex animals whose languages we have yet to figure out -- the whales).

I am conservative (I use that term literally, rather than politically) enough to believe that before we should even presume to make changes to "improve" the vast and complex web of relationships of life on earth, we should first understand them thoroughly. And I think we've barely begun to scratch the surface of understanding them. Having seen the mess that chronic wasting disease has made of the elk herds in Colorado, I have a deeper respect for the value (from a macro-perspective, that is) that predatory wolves serve. The Yellowstone ecosystem is largely devoid of chronic wasting disease, apparently because the wolves devour the elk that begin to contract the disease, thereby limiting its spread.

I've not sorted out how to think about the relationship between micro-ethics (which takes into account the view of the individual) and macro-ethics (which takes into account the view of the collective -- Gaia), but I suspect that the answer to your basic question lies submerged somewhere in that soup.
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Post #6:
(Perfunktory)
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greenfrog wrote:

watching a mother cat care for and carry around her kittens, it's seems pretty clear from the outside that she is capable of extending empathy to creatures beyond herself. But not so far as the mice.
I'm much less convinced that it is empathy that is motivating the mother cat to nurture her kittens. Though I do realize that your interpretation of the mother cat's actions is, as Joey would say, a more charitable interpretation, I don't feel that my different interpretation is born out of a lack of charity. Cats will reject their kittens if they smell too much like humans or anything foreign. That's a pretty harsh outcome. One that, when coupled to my observations of how a mother treats her kittens, suggests to me that most of what she is doing is instinctual.

I point this out because my personal feeling is that in many instances when humans observe animal behavior, I feel we see what we want to see. In general, I think people see animals as innocent, possibly because we don't feel animals are capable of the same moral reasoning as we are and are therefor incapable of moral transgressions. Through this same lens, I think many people further interpret the actions of animals to have noble intentions. "Of course a mother kitten takes care of her kittens, she loves them" and "dogs are so loyal and obedient because they love their masters". Now I don't intend to demean the relationships people have with animals, but I understand a dog's loyalty to be born out of it's desire for food. I also understand a dog's obedience to be a product of subservience facilitated by the position the dog sees itself in it's social hierarchy (respecting the alpha male position). That being said, I still really like dogs and cats. I particularly enjoy playing with dogs and I see many benefits to the relationships people have with animals.

To what extent does your sympathy (and/or possibly empathy) for animals inform your feelings on how justifiable it is to do things (or not do things) that cause them pain and suffering? Is the answer to my question found under your thoughts on the hierarchy of consciousness?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I sense that you are significantly affected by the pain and suffering of animals brought about by what you understand to be the morally unjust desires of humans. On the other hand, the pain, suffering and possibly even torture animals inflict upon other animals does not affect you in nearly the same way because you don't view the actions or intents of the animals to be morally unjust.
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Post #7:
(greenfrog
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Quote:
I'm much less convinced that it is empathy that is motivating the mother cat to nurture her kittens. Though I do realize that your interpretation of the mother cat's actions is, as Joey would say, a more charitable interpretation, I don't feel that my different interpretation is born out of a lack of charity.
Perfunktory,

I chose the word "empathy" intentionally, because I posit that cats have, to some limited degree, consciousness. Absent consciousness, I agree that precisely the same behavior could be generated by instinct. But as I think about that particular fact, I see absolutely no distinction between its application to animals (cats in this instance) and its application to humans. I would submit that there is no behavior that occurs in humans that cannot be similarly attributed to instinct and, fundamentally, determinism.

Do you have an objective basis for choosing to attribute the mother cat's behavior to deterministic instinct? If your decision is based, at core, on subjective factors, do you make similar attribution of instinct and determinism to the actions of other humans?

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Cats will reject their kittens if they smell too much like humans or anything foreign. That's a pretty harsh outcome.
Humans abort their fetuses quite frequently because the fetus does not conform to the humans' preferred characteristics. In some countries, similar rejections occur even following live birth. That's pretty harsh, too.

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One that, when coupled to my observations of how a mother treats her kittens, suggests to me that most of what she is doing is instinctual.
What specific actions or conditions do you conclude exclude the possibility of consciousness?

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I point this out because my personal feeling is that in many instances when humans observe animal behavior, I feel we see what we want to see.
I agree, though, as I've suggested with my queries, above, I think that this belief really doesn't tell us whether either prejudice (the one finding consciousness or the one finding solely instinct) should prevail. That's one reason that in the other post, I went into the level of detail I did about Damasio's conclusions about consciousness and brain structure. Each of us starts with a faith-based conclusion about our own consciousness -- we believe that we make decisions, rather than acting solely on instinct. Damasio has done the lab work to identify the portions of the brain and nervous system that are activated when such decision-making occurs. The fact that some non-humans have similar CNS structures is concrete, if circumstantial, evidence that the non-humans also have degrees of consciousness. Just as damage signals, when brought into consciousness, become the experience of "pain," so, too, do instinctual signals to care for another, when brought into consciousness, become love and empathy.

So I chose the word empathy because cats seem to have the requisite equipment for some degree of consciousness -- and therefore, choice -- and their behavior reflects actions that, if performed consciously, would demonstrate empathy or love.

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In general, I think people see animals as innocent, possibly because we don't feel animals are capable of the same moral reasoning as we are and are therefor incapable of moral transgressions.
I probably agree with you, if by "innocent" you mean "blameless," rather than "good." I view animals, in many but not all instances, the same way I view toddlers in many but not all instances. When either animals or toddlers act out of instinct, their actions are likely to be entirely self-serving, self-indulgent, and lacking in both wisdom and morality. When my two-year-old son smacked my ten-year-old son over the head with a claw hammer, he wasn't acting in any way I'd characterize as "good," though I do believe that he was, largely, blameless.

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Through this same lens, I think many people further interpret the actions of animals to have noble intentions. "Of course a mother kitten takes care of her kittens, she loves them" and "dogs are so loyal and obedient because they love their masters". Now I don't intend to demean the relationships people have with animals, but I understand a dog's loyalty to be born out of it's desire for food. I also understand a dog's obedience to be a product of subservience facilitated by the position the dog sees itself in it's social hierarchy (respecting the alpha male position).
Same point as above -- the same thing could be said of why you went to work this morning and submitted yourself to all the unpleasantries associated with working for a living within an organizational hierarchy. You've been operantly conditioned, Skinner-style, to do exactly what you're doing and to behave exactly as you're behaving to get your food pellet in the form of a bi-weekly paycheck. There really is no question that operant conditioning works on people, just as it works on animals like dogs. But I reject the conclusion that moral agency cannot override operant conditioning, when consciousness is applied by the subject. From a lab technician's perspective, the abberant (i.e., not-programmed-for) behavior is simply evidence of the defect of the conditioning or the subject. From the subject's perspective, it's intentional, subjective, moral-if-you-will choice.

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That being said, I still really like dogs and cats. I particularly enjoy playing with dogs and I see many benefits to the relationships people have with animals.
Me, too.

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To what extent does your sympathy (and/or possibly empathy) for animals inform your feelings on how justifiable it is to do things (or not do things) that cause them pain and suffering? Is the answer to my question found under your thoughts on the hierarchy of consciousness?
I think the answer is present, if latently, in what I've written on this thread.

If I felt no empathy for animals, I would have only intellectual, objective reasons to exclude them from #4's "category X." While I've offered a number of intellectual, objective reasons to include them within the same category as humans for at least application of basic ethical principles, my feelings mirror my rational perceptions. Once I get into #3, I use my feelings to evaluate the significance of and the weight I ascribe to my reason/need/desire to inflict pain or suffering on another. As I noted above, I evaluate my preference for the taste of beef as significantly less important to me than the continued well being of the cow that would be slaughtered to serve my appetite. My preference for the continued well being arises both from my desire to act ethically toward others, as well as my basic gut feeling of empathy.

(BTW -- cool factoid -- when cows and calves are together on rangeland that is far enough from water that the calves can't make the trip, the cows will, one or two at a time, leave their calves with the other cows and calves, make the trip to water, drink, and return. They then suckle their own calves and watch over the other calves to protect from predation while the other cows take their turns going for a drink. Group baby-sitting. Instinct? Sure, it could be only that. So, too, could the babysitting my sons do for our next-door neighbor be just instinct.)

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Correct me if I'm wrong, but I sense that you are significantly affected by the pain and suffering of animals brought about by what you understand to be the morally unjust desires of humans.
I need to think about this more. I'm pretty far from convinced that what people do unknowingly is anything different than my two-year-old whacking my ten-year-old with a hammer. The two-year-old wanted attention, and he devised a way to get attention. It worked. A person who is not aware of the consciousness of an animal has no ethical reason not to eat the animal. So I'm not convinced that the human's actions are unjust, from within the human's own sphere of reference -- ignorant, but not evil.

I suppose if someone were to tell me, "yes, I understand and agree that animals are conscious, and they experience pain and suffering in meaningful degrees, and I further agree that I physically could do fine without meat in my diet, and I further agree that by purchasing meat from the grocery store down the street, I'm paying others to inflict pain and suffering on the animals so I can get a good price for t-bones and use my leftover change to load up my iPod," then I'd conclude that the person's actions were probably unjust -- though before drawing that conclusion, I'd want to ask a lot of questions to test whether the person really has thought through the implications and has no reason I haven't thought of that justifies the practice. Then, I'd probably want to ask them about why their conclusions about animals were not similarly true of their conclusions about humans, but really that sort of questioning is really more of an exercise in persuasion designed to point out inconsistencies and weaknesses in logic more than about honing my own beliefs. By that point, I'd probably have come to the conclusion that the person's actions were unjust.

But in my interactions with folks on the street or at home around my dinner table? I don't presume any of those things. Instead, I think they're acting unconsciously or that they're not as capable of (or that they don't believe that they're as capable of) living without meat as I.

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On the other hand, the pain, suffering and possibly even torture animals inflict upon other animals does not affect you in nearly the same way because you don't view the actions or intents of the animals to be morally unjust.
Ignorant, but not evil.
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Post #8:
(Perfunktory)
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greenfrog wrote:

I would submit that there is no behavior that occurs in humans that cannot be similarly attributed to instinct and, fundamentally, determinism.
I don't think I would go that far. I think there's significantly more examples of irrational behavior that contradicts instinct in humans where this is not the case with animals. But I don't think that what I'm saying here is any different than your observations about a hierarchy of consciousness.

greenfrog wrote:

Do you have an objective basis for choosing to attribute the mother cat's behavior to deterministic instinct? If your decision is based, at core, on subjective factors, do you make similar attribution of instinct and determinism to the actions of other humans?
I too believe that cats have consciousness. I tried to explain that my basis for attributing the mother cat's behavior to instinct was because I saw an opposing action that, by inference, would suggest the cat is acting out of instinct and not a conscious choice. Do you see my inference as any better or worse than yours?

FWIW, I'm guessing there are many behaviors in humans that I would more readily understand as instinct than I think you would. But that might be a poor guess.

greenfrog wrote:

Humans abort their fetuses quite frequently because the fetus does not conform to the humans' preferred characteristics. In some countries, similar rejections occur even following live birth. That's pretty harsh, too.
Yes, it is. Do you see it's harshness as proportional to the level of consciousness found in the individual?

greenfrog wrote:

Damasio has done the lab work to identify the portions of the brain and nervous system that are activated when such decision-making occurs. The fact that some non-humans have similar CNS structures is concrete, if circumstantial, evidence that the non-humans also have degrees of consciousness. Just as damage signals, when brought into consciousness, become the experience of "pain," so, too, do instinctual signals to care for another, when brought into consciousness, become love and empathy.
If I haven't been clear, I'm in agreement that animals have a consciousness. I guess we differ not only in the extent to which we understand animals to be acting according to that consciousness, but also how we should apply that information when it comes to our choice to eat meat. (Though I'm finding it hard to discern the impact either of these factors has our ultimate conclusions.)

greenfrog wrote:

I suppose if someone were to tell me, "yes, I understand and agree that animals are conscious, and they experience pain and suffering in meaningful degrees, and I further agree that I physically could do fine without meat in my diet, and I further agree that by purchasing meat from the grocery store down the street, I'm paying others to inflict pain and suffering on the animals so I can get a good price for t-bones and use my leftover change to load up my iPod," then I'd conclude that the person's actions were probably unjust -- though before drawing that conclusion, I'd want to ask a lot of questions to test whether the person really has thought through the implications and has no reason I haven't thought of that justifies the practice. Then, I'd probably want to ask them about why their conclusions about animals were not similarly true of their conclusions about humans, but really that sort of questioning is really more of an exercise in persuasion designed to point out inconsistencies and weaknesses in logic more than about honing my own beliefs. By that point, I'd probably have come to the conclusion that the person's actions were unjust.
Have you concluded that my choice to eat meat is unjust?

greenfrog wrote:

Ignorant, but not evil.
Often times people are outraged by the ignorance displayed by others because they feel the pain and suffering inflicted, even if done in ignorance, is something that could be avoided. In terms of minimizing the pain and suffering that animals inflict on other animals, is it the apparent infeasibility that prevents you from being concerned about their pain and suffering? IOW, why is it that pain and suffering done in ignorance doesn't appear to be something you feel should change with respect to animals hurting other animals?
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Post #9:
(greenfrog)
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Quote:
greenfrog wrote:
Do you have an objective basis for choosing to attribute the mother cat's behavior to deterministic instinct? If your decision is based, at core, on subjective factors, do you make similar attribution of instinct and determinism to the actions of other humans?
I too believe that cats have consciousness. I tried to explain that my basis for attributing the mother cat's behavior to instinct was because I saw an opposing action that, by inference, would suggest the cat is acting out of instinct and not a conscious choice. Do you see my inference as any better or worse than yours?
I understand your point to be that the abandonment of kittens because of scent suggested to you the converse action (caring for kittens) was more likely a function of instinct than of empathy. I offered the point that humans do such things to their offspring quite frequently. I suppose we can conclude from the similarity of cases that both humans and cats may operate out of instinct when they destroy their offspring. But the question was whether empathy/love might be the correct way to characterize the cat's experience. That instinct can override consciousness doesn't mean that consciousness (and its resulting love and empathy) is not present. My experience is that strong instincts very often do override consciousness.

Perhaps I don't understand what you mean when you say that you believe cats have consciousness. What does the cat's consciousness "contain" in your understanding of the term?

Quote:

FWIW, I'm guessing there are many behaviors in humans that I would more readily understand as instinct than I think you would. But that might be a poor guess.
If by "instinct" you mean "not the product of conscious choice" then I would agree with your perception. From my own life, I'd guess that easily less than 10% of my waking minutes each day involve actual consciousness. Almost everything I do I do without thinking, really, about what it is with an awareness and actual consideration of the alternatives available. Much of the suffering I see in the world could be significantly reduced, IMO, by simply increasing awareness and consciousness.

greenfrog wrote:


Quote:
Humans abort their fetuses quite frequently because the fetus does not conform to the humans' preferred characteristics. In some countries, similar rejections occur even following live birth. That's pretty harsh, too.

Yes, it is. Do you see it's harshness as proportional to the level of consciousness found in the individual?
I'm not sure I understand what you are asking. Can you clarify? The action is only "harsh" from the perspective of one who can imagine a way less harmful to the (valued) offspring to accomplish the objective.

Quote:
greenfrog wrote:

Damasio has done the lab work to identify the portions of the brain and nervous system that are activated when such decision-making occurs. The fact that some non-humans have similar CNS structures is concrete, if circumstantial, evidence that the non-humans also have degrees of consciousness. Just as damage signals, when brought into consciousness, become the experience of "pain," so, too, do instinctual signals to care for another, when brought into consciousness, become love and empathy.
If I haven't been clear, I'm in agreement that animals have a consciousness. I guess we differ not only in the extent to which we understand animals to be acting according to that consciousness, but also how we should apply that information when it comes to our choice to eat meat. (Though I'm finding it hard to discern the impact either of these factors has our ultimate conclusions.)
I use consciousness as a meaningful way to distinguish between creatures capable of experiencing pain and suffering from those things that cannot. The presence/absence of pain and suffering is a reason I find to treat those that fit into one or the other category differently. That is the relevance of consciousness for me.

I'm guessing that you have a different criterion by which you decide when to exploit another to serve your desires. What is that criterion? Previously, I thought you were suggesting that there was no meaningful distinction between plants and animals, and so you were stuck with inflicting pain on somebody, no matter what, to live. I responded with an explanation of why I believed you were incorrect about the idea that plants could experience pain or suffering. I didn't perceive you disagreeing with my reasoning on that point, but that leaves me without a solid understanding of what principle you use to decide, for example, to pay someone to skin a cow alive in the process of providing you with a t-bone, but not to pay someone to skin alive another human for the same purpose. I believe that you have a basis on which you make those distinctions, but I need to hear more (or re-read what you've already written) to discern it.


Have you concluded that my choice to eat meat is unjust?
Nope. Still trying to understand how you reach your decision.


greenfrog wrote:
Ignorant, but not evil.
Often times people are outraged by the ignorance displayed by others because they feel the pain and suffering inflicted, even if done in ignorance, is something that could be avoided.
I think that anger in such situations is misplaced, usually a function of ego.

In terms of minimizing the pain and suffering that animals inflict on other animals, is it the apparent infeasibility that prevents you from being concerned about their pain and suffering? IOW, why is it that pain and suffering done in ignorance doesn't appear to be something you feel should change with respect to animals hurting other animals?
No. I realize that I didn't explain in detail (because I haven't thought through in detail) how the basic conservative principle applies to my sense of deep ecology, but I did offer the elk/wasting disease/wolf example to suggest how incomplete understanding can make well intentioned efforts to reduce elk suffering counterproductive.
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Post #10:
(Perfunktory)
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greenfrog wrote:

That instinct can override consciousness doesn't mean that consciousness (and its resulting love and empathy) is not present. My experience is that strong instincts very often do override consciousness.
I completely agree with this.

greenfrog wrote:

Perhaps I don't understand what you mean when you say that you believe cats have consciousness. What does the cat's consciousness "contain" in your understanding of the term?
I don't know that I can effectively answer your question because I'm not sure I know. It's easier for me to look at particular actions or instances and make a cursory judgment than to describe how and to what extent I feel an animals consciousness extends. I feel the same way about plants. I suspect that there are several aspects of animal/plant consciousness that are all together different than our own.

greenfrog wrote:

I'm not sure I understand what you are asking. Can you clarify? The action is only "harsh" from the perspective of one who can imagine a way less harmful to the (valued) offspring to accomplish the objective.
Do you use your hierarchy of consciousness to form your judgment as to the morality of the individuals choice to kill? (I don't think I'm succeeding at expressing my question.)

greenfrog wrote:

I'm guessing that you have a different criterion by which you decide when to exploit another to serve your desires. What is that criterion?
I'm not sure I use a different criterion as much as I think I assign a different level of importance when assessing the cost to benefit.

greenfrog wrote:

Previously, I thought you were suggesting that there was no meaningful distinction between plants and animals, and so you were stuck with inflicting pain on somebody, no matter what, to live.
Through this discussion of pain and consciousness I would say that your understanding of my initial position is where I still find myself. The idea that I'm unable to discern between the ultimate difference between eating plants and eating animals includes my views and understanding of pain and consciousness. I see myself as a consumer no matter what I eat. My existence comes at a cost. The consciousness of animals impacts me to the extent that I feel I want their pain to be minimized, but I also feel that taking their life to sustain my own, despite the fact that it's not necessary, is an acceptable sacrifice.

greenfrog wrote:

Perfunktory wrote:
Often times people are outraged by the ignorance displayed by others because they feel the pain and suffering inflicted, even if done in ignorance, is something that could be avoided.

I think that anger in such situations is misplaced, usually a function of ego.
Interesting, because this is pretty much how I understand PETA's choice to compare the killing of animals to the Holocaust.
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Post #11:
(greenfrog)
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Perhaps we can get to the difference between our perspectives this way:

Assuming for a moment that it was lawful to choose either one, for what reason(s) would you choose to eat beef, but not human?
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Post #12:
(Perfunktory)
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I would choose beef because I have greater value for the life of a human.
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Post #13:
(greenfrog)
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Are there reasons that you value one more highly than another, or is it just a non-reasoned gut feeling?
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Post #14:
(Perfunktory)
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I value the human life more because I feel the potentialities of his/her life are infinitely greater than that of the cows.
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Post #15:
(greenfrog)
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What are the specific "potentialities" you have in mind?
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Post #16:
(Perfunktory)
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Becoming as God.
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Post #17:
(greenfrog)
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What factual basis have you used to decide which beings to include in the category of "god-like potential" and which to exclude?
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Post #18:
(Perfunktory)
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When Noah had all the animals on the ark, my understanding is that he gave them all the divinity aptitude test (DAT).

No, I've no factual basis.
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Post #19:
(greenfrog)
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Interesting conclusion.
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Post #20:
(Perfunktory)
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To the discussion or just that question?
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Post #21:
(greenfrog)
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Which would you prefer?

As I understand your response to the prior questions, it was this: you conclude it proper to inflict pain and suffering on a particular group (non-humans) to serve your own, non-life-threatening interests (you like to eat their meat), while you conclude that it would be wrong to inflict pain and suffering on a different group (humans) even if you liked to eat their meat.

I further understand your most recent response to my most recent question to be this: Your decision to inflict suffering on one group, while it would be wrong to inflict suffering on the other group, is based on beliefs that either lack correspondence to or are actually inversely correllated with the facts I've identified.

If I've got your understanding right, with respect to this subject, the common ground between us appears pretty narrow.

Did I get it right? If not, please advise. If I did, what questions do you believe remain open and useful to explore?
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Post #22:
(Perfunktory)
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greenfrog wrote:
As I understand your response to the prior questions, it was this: you conclude it proper to inflict pain and suffering on a particular group (non-humans) to serve your own, non-life-threatening interests (you like to eat their meat), while you conclude that it would be wrong to inflict pain and suffering on a different group (humans) even if you liked to eat their meat.
I would characterize my thought process a bit differently. I recognize that my existence comes at a cost. Even if I choose to only eat plants, my existence will still indirectly impact the quantity and quality of animal lives and consciousness. My choice to eat meat, meat that comes from animals who were created for the express purpose to be eaten, does not have to result in a net loss of consciousness.

greenfrog wrote:

I further understand your most recent response to my most recent question to be this: Your decision to inflict suffering on one group, while it would be wrong to inflict suffering on the other group, is based on beliefs that either lack correspondence to or are actually inversely correllated with the facts I've identified.
Unless you're talking about the poor practices of industrial agriculture (a point on which I agree with you), I'm not sure I understand what you mean that my beliefs are inversely correlated to the facts you've identified. My understanding is that I interpret the facts you've identified to mean significantly different things.

greenfrog wrote:

If I've got your understanding right, with respect to this subject, the common ground between us appears pretty narrow.
That may be the case, though I really appreciate having this discussion with you.

greenfrog wrote:

If I did, what questions do you believe remain open and useful to explore?
I'm still interested in why you are less concerned about the suffering animals inflict on other animals. Seeing as you've devoted so much time and thought to this conversation, and that you've indicated that it might take more time and thought than you care to give at this time, might I suggest that if you that, at a later time, possibly after you have pondered this issue passively or in whatever way suits you, that we engage in this discussion some time later.
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Post #24:
(Ignorant Sage)
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Perfunktory wrote:
I'm still interested in why you are less concerned about the suffering animals inflict on other animals. Seeing as you've devoted so much time and thought to this conversation, and that you've indicated that it might take more time and thought than you care to give at this time, might I suggest that if you that, at a later time, possibly after you have pondered this issue passively or in whatever way suits you, that we engage in this discussion some time later.
I'm neither green nor a frog, nor a vegetarian - but it would seem to me that there are a number of reasons why this might be the case.

First, differing levels consciousness and capacities for choice.

Second, ability to pursuade. Our ability to persuade animals is more limited than our ability to persuade people.

Third, sphere of influence. Related to the second, but more explicitly we live in the human sphere. While we might occasionally enter into "the wild" so to speak, most of us don't live there. Greenfrog's (or PETA's) sphere is humanity and can reasonably hope to impact human behavior. Influencing every bear out there is less possible

Fourth, biological requirements. Some animals are carnivores; humans are not.

Fifth, much of their "cruelty" is a biological requirement for survival; scent may indicate sickness, pollution, or 'otherness'; so scarce resources shouldn't be spent on that offspring. Playing with prey before killing it provides extra honing of reflexes that increase future odds of catching prey, etc., etc. Many aspects of human behavior that we now find undesirable (aggression, rape, etc.) may have once served a purpose but are no longer necessary because of our civilazations advances. Perhaps eating meat is one of those formerly necessary/advantageous part of human behavior that we no longer need.

Sixth, the question is problematic in that there seems to be an underlying idea that "other animals are cruel and hurtful to animals, why is it such a big deal if I am". Their cruelty doesn't of itself mitigate ours.

Perfunktory wrote:

My choice to eat meat, meat that comes from animals who were created for the express purpose to be eaten, does not have to result in a net loss of consciousness.
How confident are you that the animals you eat were created expressly to be eaten?

First, not animals are suitable for eating - what were they created for?

Second, are we not taught that animals were created to have joy - the same thing we are taught man was created for?
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Post #25:
(Perfunktory)
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Ignorant Sage wrote:

How confident are you that the animals you eat were created expressly to be eaten?
I'm talking about the farmer's choice to bring in a bull stud to impregnate cows.

Ignorant Sage wrote:

Second, are we not taught that animals were created to have joy - the same thing we are taught man was created for?
But what about D&C 49:18-21?
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Post #26:
(cheapcontact)
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Perfunktory wrote:
My choice to eat meat, meat that comes from animals who were created for the express purpose to be eaten, does not have to result in a net loss of consciousness.
How do you know that because a farmer brought in a bull stud to impregnate cows the resulting animal's express purpose is only to be eaten. Suppose there was a society that impregnated women with the express purpose of eating the babies, would you feel the same way?
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Post #27:
(Perfunktory)
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Isaiah 11
Quote:

6 The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.

7 And the cow and the bear shall feed; their young ones shall lie down together: and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.

8 And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice’ den.

9 They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain: for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD, as the waters cover the sea.

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Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Consciousness, Suffering, Animals and Plants

This is a bit afield of yoga postures, but it bears on Yoga with a capital "Y."

I prepared most of this in response to a question by a friend who asked, in essence, "Why should I care more about the suffering of animals than I do about plants, which also respond when they are harmed?"

In responding to that question, I had to tease out my thinking about some of the issues relating to my decision to go vegetarian. I post the response here to see what others think about the subject.

As I think of responding to the question, my thinking subdivides along the following lines:

1. What is required to experience pain and suffering?
2. Are there factual bases to conclude that animals experience pain and suffering?
3. Are there factual bases to conclude that plants experience pain and suffering?
4. Based on answers to those questions, are there conclusions I can or should draw about how I should respond ethically to such situations?


1. What is required to experience pain and suffering?
This is the question that sent me off on a couple of weeks of background reading. I had read Antonio Damasio’s book, The Feeling of What Happens: Body and Emotion in the Making of Consciousness, several years ago, and I remembered enough to recall that his thinking was relevant to this question, but I’d forgotten the details of his thinking. I’m a little more refreshed on the concept now, and if you’ll bear with me, I’ll review some of it here. Damasio is a neurologist who has studied (like all neurologists, apparently) people with various kinds of brain lesions. One of the people he studied had episodes during which he lacked consciousness, which Damasio carefully defines as awareness of self. Damasio recounts observing and interacting with the patient during those periods – though not “conscious” of himself as a self, the person was not lying on the floor catatonic – he could stand, walk around the room, drink coffee from a mug. But he did not have any notion of himself as a person. His sensory perception was functional – he could see, hear, feel, etc. But he was not aware that he was seeing, hearing, feeling. When I read this, it took me a while to process what, exactly, Damasio was getting at. To the extent I’ve succeeded, his key points (for the purposes of this discussion) are these:

There is a difference between experiencing a stimulus that causes a response and experiencing pain and suffering. Losing consciousness does not require shutting down of sensory perception. Think of Terri Schiavo movies. But without consciousness, there is no perception of pain. Accordingly, once the anesthesiologist puts me out, the surgeon cutting me open no longer worries about using local anesthetic for pain control purposes. When there is no “self” to perceive the stimulus as pain, there is no pain, per se. The same is doubly true of “suffering,” which is mental anguish associated with the perception and anticipation of pain, and other second-order kinds of experiences, all of which have basic consciousness as a pre-requisite condition.

If Damasio is right (and I think he pretty clearly is, though it took me a while to figure out exactly what he was saying), then pain and suffering are significantly different than simply stimulus/response. The tricky part to this is that stimulus/response developed, evolutionarily, well before consciousness did. Organisms evolved to flee from external factors that made holes in the organisms long before those organisms developed consciousness in any meaningful degree. The mechanisms that run those operations are no more alive than a light switch is alive. The light turns on when the system receives the stimulus of the switch being flipped. So, too, biological damage-avoidance mechanisms can operate without anything more than mechanics. That makes, sense, since it’s evolutionarily a good idea to keep one’s cellular membranes intact, to say nothing of avoiding becoming a dinosaur’s meal. I say all this to make this point: we have to be pretty careful in thinking about pain and suffering. Because damage-avoidance developed before consciousness did, responses that conscious beings make to painful stimuli are often identical to the responses that non-conscious beings make to organism-damaging stimuli, without ever perceiving anything like pain.

Once consciousness did develop, it created the ability to override the automatic responses triggered by stimuli. That had the potential to be very advantageous from an evolutionary perspective – it would allow an organism to keep fighting, even in situations in which it was being damaged. In a world where there is competition for limited resources, disabling the automatic “flee” mechanism was useful. Unfortunately, that same consciousness had the unfortunate effect of disconnecting organism-threatening stimuli from the automatic organism-protecting responses. In such an environment, it’s easy to see why the organism with emerging consciousness was benefited by developing a decidedly unpleasant signal to indicate damage to the organism – pain. Theoretically, there’s nothing necessary about damage to the organism being signaled by pain to consciousness. Instead, theoretically, damage could have been signaled by any other arbitrary perception – say a vision of a particular color or perception of a particular sound or smell. But pain – a signal that conscious beings innately dislike and want to avoid – was more adaptively advantageous. The organisms for whom the damage signal was a psychically neutral color, sound, or smell didn’t have a perception that would cause them to avoid the damaging stimulus. But pain turned out to be very useful, precisely because it was unpleasant to conscious beings. When that evolutionary change happened, it enabled the organisms to weigh in the balance the possibility of avoiding the pain against the possibility of advantages to be gained by suffering the pain. At that point – bingo – you have the LDS version of Eve: And Eve … heard all these things and was glad, saying: “Were it not for our transgression we never … should have known good and evil…”

2. Are there factual bases to conclude that animals experience pain and suffering?

With Damasio’s model of consciousness in mind (excuse the pun), it’s worth exploring what it takes to have a sense of “self.” This process requires a couple of inferences, but not wildly excessive ones. But, again, it’s useful to me to start with basics. First, because of the way reality is constructed, we can only experience our own subjectivity. In other words, we can never be 100% certain that beings other than ourselves are really conscious. Everyone else might simply be very elaborately programmed stimulus-response mechanisms. Despite this possibility, we use inference to conclude that organisms that have similar structures to us and that display similar responses to ours do so because they, too, experience subjectivity – i.e., they have a sense of “self” just like I do. This isn’t an insignificant assumption – it’s the basis on which we conclude, from an ethical perspective, that it’s wrong to squash another person without a good reason to do so, while it’s not wrong to squash a rock without a good reason to do so. Despite the significance (and I’ll come back to it later for all the reasons that may be becoming obvious at this point), it’s a pretty basic inference, and it’s a pretty common one.

What are the similar structures that help fortify the inference that other humans have subjective senses of “self”? To respond to this question, I resort, again, to Damasio’s studies – this time, studies of people with brain lesions that appear to have taken away those people’s senses of “self.” I will leave you to read Damasio’s entire book, if you’re interested in the details (and hypotheses – this is hardly finished science). In short, Damasio concludes that to have consciousness – including a functional sense of “self” – one must have, intact, at least the portions of the brain that are used to sense the body (visceral perception and emotion perception, among others), as well as the portions that perceive an object that is not the body (sensory perception), and the portion of the brain that retains in (short-term, at least) memory the relationship between the body and the object. Lacking (or having lesions that eliminate) any one of those three systems, patients do not have a sense of self – even if they are awake and able to focus attention on objects, they lack consciousness.

Do other organisms besides myself have each of those three systems? Yes. Most humans have all of them. A number of non-human animals clearly do, too. Using the assumption that like objective structures and like observable actions are reasonable evidence of like subjective experience, at least some non-human animals are conscious beings. If they’re conscious beings, they can experience pain and (perhaps to more attenuated degrees) suffering. It’s not clear that all creatures with brains have the structures required for consciousness, and some pretty likely don’t. But a brain is the starting point in the required structures for our style of consciousness.

3. Are there factual bases to conclude that plants experience pain and suffering?

Answering this question highlights the importance of the like-structures-lead-to-like-experiences inference. Is it possible that other, non-similarly-designed things have developed senses of “self,” but use entirely different physical structures to do so? Certainly. There are lots of examples in evolutionary biology of convergent adaptation – different organisms developing similar structures to adapt to similar environments. The easy and obvious example is that of the relatively streamlined body shapes of fish and whales. Clearly, the pressures of the particular environmental niche (water) had significant and similar effect on the two differently-originating populations. So just as a water environment could cause development of streamlined body shape in very differently constructed populations, so, too, could the environmental pressures that caused the development of consciousness in (at least some) brain-possessing population cause the development of consciousness in creatures that lack central brain-like structures. In this regard, an interesting possibility would be the relatively intelligent mollusks – octopi and cuttlefish, which have distributed nervous systems, rather than centralized nervous systems.

But so far as we can tell (and that’s an important qualification), while plants are certainly capable of stimulus/response processes (every cell has them), they lack the structures from which we can reasonably infer that they have consciousness that would enable them to perceive stimuli as pain, let alone the more abstraction-creating aspects of mind necessary for suffering. Might there be a mechanism for consciousness that doesn’t include any nervous system at all? Of course. The human immune system pretty clearly has sensory elements and “memory” elements without involving the use of neurons. (I’ve not heard a suggestion that the immune system also has decisional elements, so I tend not to think of that particular system as independently conscious, though it clearly relates to and interacts with the consciousness of normally functioning humans.) But I’m not familiar with any well reasoned argument that plants have such consciousness. FWIW, the non-replicability of the experiments reported in books like The Secret Life of Plants makes me suspect defective procedures, rather than consciously alive sunflowers. The accounts that, upon predation-type harms, acacia trees emit chemicals that make their own remaining foliage and the foliage of surrounding acacia trees less palatable to acacia-tree-eaters is a fascinating demonstration of the interdependence of organisms, and of communication, but nothing in the accounts I’ve seen suggests the more elaborate notions required for consciousness, and, therefore, for the experience of pain or suffering.

4. Based on answers to those questions, are there conclusions I can or should draw about how I should respond ethically to such situations?

To get to ethical conclusions from facts, I have to add in values that help give shape to the ethical questions. Without the values, the facts of animal pain and suffering are nothing more than facts. So to the foregoing mix of facts and inferences, I add the following values:

(1) Any degree of consciousness is, itself, both beautiful and sacred to me. As a point of departure, it is the only aspect of existence that I identify as “self,” and I don’t view consciousness as distinctively “me.” IOW, when I perceive my own consciousness, I perceive it to be an artificially divided subset of the consciousness manifest in all other conscious beings. Consciousness is, simply, the way the universe is aware. Though the conditions to which it is exposed and the opportunity for development differ significantly from person to person to animal to animal, the consciousness I experience is not essentially different than that which you or any other person or animal experiences. Memories, instincts, emotions, everything else changes, sometimes rapidly, sometimes slowly. Consciousness is the only true constant. Seeing it in my own subjective experience and seeing it manifested and fostering its development in the lives of others is the core of my spiritual practice. My recognition of consciousness in others is the basis on which I identify with them – I believe mistreatment of humans is wrong because humans have consciousness – they are subject beings, to borrow a phrase from Arosophos. They are ‘selves.’ I believe mistreatment of animals is wrong for exactly the same reason. I could go on at much greater length about this, if helpful, but I’ll stop with that as an intro. If you’re interested in the applications of this value in my life, let me know, and we can discuss it further.

(2) Pain and suffering are real experiences of subjective beings, and they are, by definition, negative experiences that – perhaps because of the nature of consciousness, perhaps because of the nature of our peculiar psychology – tend to wreak havoc on consciousness itself. Without training, few people learn to respond positively to pain and suffering, though it seems that there are great souls every now and again who do. While there are ways of using pain and suffering to accomplish good – meditation is one of those ways, but that’s a different subject – intentionally causing another to experience pain and suffering that does not confer create some countervailing benefit works against the value that I place on consciousness. Also, it triggers my sense of empathy – I suffer when I witness another suffering. I rejoice when I witness another experiencing joy. I believe it morally wrong to harm others without, at least, a good reason for doing so.

There are probably other values that could factor into the question, but I think those two will get me as far as I need to go in response to your question. (And, if you’re still reading, you probably just guffawed and asked yourself, “Might he actually go longer than he already has???”)

So when I combine the facts, inferences, and the values, I arrive at these conclusions:

Industrial farming practices

Current industrial farming practices in the US cause incredible pain and suffering on livestock animals that I have good reason to believe have consciousness. So far as I can tell, the only countervailing good that is generated by inflicting that pain and suffering on animals is a marginally lower price for meat. I’ve established to my own satisfaction that I can live – quite well and quite healthily – without eating meat. Given that, there’s very little to weigh in the balance with the pain and suffering that are undeniably caused by my participation in the agricultural system that uses industrial farming practices. Do I like the taste of meat? Yes. Do I like it enough to justify skinning live and conscious creatures? No. Do I like low prices? Yes. Do I like low prices enough to justify skinning live and conscious creatures to keep prices low? No.

Plants v. Animals

As I noted above, the pain and suffering issue itself is based on an inference – that others like me have subjective experience – that they’re not just sophisticated automatons. That inference is pretty common among humans, as it forms the basis for almost all ethical principles I can think of for interacting with other humans. I’ve explained why that inference is logically and reasonably extendible to at least some animals. (I haven’t tried to detail the various lab experiments that have been devised and conducted to test the hypothesis – some are pretty interesting and compelling, but in the end, they still depend upon the same core inference.) I’ve also explained why that particular inference does not support the same conclusion respecting plants. Might I be wrong? Of course.

But, even if your original point were correct – that plants suffer just as animals do – there’s still a kind of logic to preferring a vegetarian diet, so long as self-preservation counts in the scheme of things (I discuss why I think it does, below): fewer plants are destroyed if I eat the plants themselves than if I consume livestock that consume plants. (Though others on this thread have questioned this, the basic principle is unquestionable. It’s really just an application of the 2nd law of thermodynamics to the food chain.)

Hierarchy of Consciousness

Is it right for one conscious being to kill and eat another, even if no pain or suffering is involved? I don’t know. There is an easy case against inflicting pain and suffering on animals. The “ethics” of paying someone to inflict mind-numbing pain and suffering on an animal so I can have shrink-wrapped t-bones on the grill are pretty easy to reject. But supposing death can be inflicted without pain and suffering? This is a much harder question for me than the previous ones were. I suspect that if I had to answer the question of whether I think that there is a hierarchy, I’d answer that I think there is. A manifestation of consciousness that is more developed is of greater value to me than one that is less developed. A manifestation of consciousness that has greater potential for development is more valuable to me than one that has less potential for development.

But note that these are incredibly – horribly, perhaps – notions of value. In theory, the concepts could apply equally to different humans. That potential makes me very uncomfortable with them. I don’t want to justify eating children (less developed) vs. adults (more developed), nor eating people with limited mental faculties (less potential) vs. those without such limitations (greater potential). But the fact is that I value people who apparently cannot live without consuming meat more than I love animals. I’m dubious that such a position is morally justified, but I live with it, nonetheless.

I do what I can to persuade those who don’t believe they can live without meat that it’s entirely possible – at least it is for almost everyone. I’m familiar with a few people for whom a vegetarian diet just hasn’t worked. If I were in that position, I’d probably eat meat, too.

I do what I can to persuade those who believe that they can live without meat, but who don’t want to give up the char-broiled t-bone, that there are better ways of pursuing joy than indulging cravings for a particular food, particularly given the pain and suffering of others that is involved in serving that craving.

And I offer this as a rule I live by: if you choose to eat animal flesh, choose animals that are less likely to experience pain and suffering. Fish? Yes, maybe. How do you feel about clams?

Thursday, January 11, 2007

The shadow of succeeding

A reminder of how oblivious I can be.

I've known for several years that I'm mildly bi-polar. And I know that I'm not on meds. Even so, I trust my own perceptions, foolishly, at times.

Last week was the culmination of a couple of really hard weeks of yoga workouts. I'd been in strength-building mode, and I'd worked everything as hard as I could, and I was loving every minute of it. When that was added to the snow-shovelling we've been doing so much of here in Denver, the result was a constantly aching right shoulder -- the one the doc operated on in August.

So last Friday, I find myself in (yet another) yoga class, and the shoulder collapses on me. It loses stability. It hurts sharply, and I spend about half the class in seated meditation: angry, disappointed, hurt, frustrated, sad. Mindful? Not in the slightest. In short, a mess.

Though I hate it, I lay off practice Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. As I progress through those days, it occurs to me that not only does my shoulder hurt a lot, I realize that I'm actually depressed.

This is a good thing, because I have a practice for what to do when I'm depressed. I notice what my mind is up to, and I watch it trail down the pretty familiar mind paths of depression. I don't get attached to those thoughts -- just watch them. I make sure that I get exercise -- though I do it on an elliptical trainer, since everything's still snowbound, and since I have to avoid screwing with my shoulder. On Monday, I set up an appointment with the surgeon to see if I've retorn the cartilage. By Monday night, the shoulder feels, actually, a lot better, though it still makes crunchy sounds at times. The depression lifts.

On Tuesday, I find a yoga class, and I behave, respecting my shoulder. On Wednesday, I find another yoga class, and I behave, respecting my shoulder. And today is Thursday, and my shoulder feels quite nice, thank you very much. Still makes odd, new sounds, so I'm glad to have the doctor's appointment next Monday. But I'm through the depression woods, and I can see the other side of the forest.

What I need to figure out, though, is how to avoid getting attached to the elevated-everything experience that goes along with manic episodes to the same extent I've learned to avoid getting attached to the depressed-everything experience that goes along with the other end of the spectrum.

For me, what makes it particularly hard to avoid attaching to elevation is the deeply-ingrained belief that everything ought to be good and happy and growing and progressing and developing and up. When I finally experience those things, I fall into the deception that I've attained what deep down I think ought to be.

Now that is a get-thee-behind-me moment I should recognize next time.

Any guess of my chances?

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Confluence

Confluence: the meeting point of disparate streams, events, or ideas.

Two weeks ago, I underwent a surgery to fix long standing problems in my right shoulder. The surgeon drilled and bored and burned and scraped and riveted and sutured and went on to the next patient. I remember bits and pieces of the events. It was outpatient surgery and I asked the anesthesiologist to leave out the stuff that makes me forget everything that happened. Still I was drugged to the gills, so my memory is sketchy. But I’ve got the scars and the pain and the weakened and painful shoulder, so I doubt it was all just made up.

As you might imagine, Down Dogs are no longer my preferred posture.

But as kismet, fate, karma, God, the Field, or just sheer luck would have it, I found myself this week teaching my first solo yoga classes. The best part was that the students are all true beginners. That allows me to set aside my self-consciousness, as they don’t really know any better.

A few notables: with my right humerus essentially limited to motions at or below shoulder height, and pretty particular even about some of those, I can’t demo nice, proper versions of lots and lots of poses. With each class, I had newcomers, so I started with a refrain of “please evaluate my instructions in light of your own knowledge of your own body. If I ask you to do something that doesn’t seem right, don’t do it.” Then I noted that I’m far from able-bodied at this point myself, and as I demo-ed various poses, I’d explain the modifications I was making for myself so that they wouldn’t mistake my versions of the poses as the “right” ones.

So is a decrepit teacher better than an entirely fit one? Possibly. Perhaps not for those who must see a perfecting physical body in front of them in order to find the discipline to return each week to the mats. But for real people with real (defective) bodies and a reasonable approach to the practice…

Sunday, December 31, 2006

Studenting a Teacher

My Sunday evenings usually start with a 5:00 p.m. yoga practice, taught by a teacher – Lara – who is impossibly stronger and more flexible than anyone I’ve ever worked with. She is an inordinately demanding teacher, one who perpetually calls for sequences of more poses, deeper poses, harder poses than the class can possibly achieve; and she does it with a laughing tone, sometimes a bit of teasing, sometimes shaded with mockery, daring us to do things we know we can’t do. I’ve had my issues with her class in the past (see the 11/28/05 entry on this thread – I haven’t figured out how to link to specific posts mid-way through a page), but I keep coming back.

One of her usual instructions is that everything you experience on your mat is already there inside of you, whether it’s joy or frustration or anger. And every kind of strength and expression you embody in a pose is also already there inside you, too. She usually says this sort of thing when most or all of the class has wilted into child’s pose, unable to deliver the pose she has called. At times, I’ve made use of that instruction in a more limited sense –whatever emotion arises on my mat is something to experience – including the frustration and anger that occur to me frequently in her class. Last night was no different, though I suppose the return to strength and flexibility of my repaired shoulder made a few more things possible than have been available to me previously. Lara still managed to call, cajole, drive, annoy, and pester us into more than we thought we could do, and then into trying and failing at more than we could actually do.

So why write this up? Because last night, I finally got her point, and it happened in a distinctly yogic sort of way. As I said, she drove the class beyond my capacities, as usual. But for whatever reason, last night, I was finally ready to see my resentful and sometimes grudging response to her calls as a function of the artifice of ego. The discovery occurred exactly when I realized that not only was the anger and resentment and frustration I felt on the mat all inside me before I walked into the room – so, too, was the extraordinary effort I make in response to such a teacher, in the very fact of my continued return to her class. And it was at that moment that I perceived the interlocked identity of teacher and student, and the existence of the teacher inside the student, of the student inside the teacher. She was right –everything I experienced on the mat was there inside of me – including her, including her style, including the extraordinary efforts I make in response to her style, including the beauty of the poses and sequences that happen only when I’m in her class.

Our language and grammar – locked into notions of subjects and objects – lack good forms for conveying such a sense, but the experience felt profound and spiritual. Last night’s experience helped me make a little sense of Patanjali’s instruction of ishvara pranidhana – that surrender to God enables a soul’s opening and awakening. I stopped resisting Lara, let go of my emotional defense of Self. And once I’d let go, the boundary line in the sand that I’d fought for all year just disappeared. And without it, I found only love.

There is in the union of such devotion – such unprotected connectedness between a teacher and a student, between a god and a disciple – something beautiful and divine that seems inconceivable (or only inconceived?) in the ego context of “me” and “thee.”

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Fields

Place your mat.

Arrange it.

Get set to practice.

Now move off your mat.

Look at the space above your mat – the space where you are going to be practicing today.

See the space – see it as some thing, rather than no thing. Usually, we see through space to something or someone beyond it.

Extend your arm into the space above your mat. Focus your eyes on your hand in that space. Then lower your arm and keep your eyes focused on the place where your hand was.

That space is your canvas for today. Now move into that space consciously.

Experience the space in which you practice. Today, we’ll be practicing a number of twists, in part because twists enable us to feel space inside ourselves. The space you move into when you practice is not only outside of you – space exists inside of you, as well. You are a part of that space. Experience it today.

At the end of class, I’ll ask you to perceive the space in which your awareness exists. Space is a field defined in part by your body/mind moving within it. Your mind is a field defined in part by your awareness moving within it. Yoga connects those fields

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Dalai Lama in Denver

Sunday afternoon, I heard speak a man – Tenzing Gyatso. He bowed reverently and offered respects to the man who introduced him, then to the audience of 15,000. He is known by the title, “His Holiness, the Fourteenth Dalai Lama.” After being introduced, he advised that he is just a simple Buddhist monk.

I believed him.

He told us that to come to the conference expecting some miraculous blessing was nonsense. And he proceeded to explain that his skin itched incessantly until he was given the miracle of ointment to apply to the skin.

Glory?

In simplicity, perhaps.

Kabat-Zinn's take on mindfulness

I read this to my yoga class today:

I'm reading this to my yoga class today:

Have you ever noticed that your awareness of pain is not in pain, even when you are? I’m sure you have. It is a very common experience, especially in childhood, but one we usually don’t examine or talk about because it is so fleeting and the pain so much more compelling in the moment it comes upon us.

Have you ever noticed that your awareness of fear is not afraid even when you are terrified? Or that your awareness of depression is not depressed; that your awareness of bad habits is not a slave to those habits; or perhaps even your awareness of who you are is not who you think you are?

You can test out any of these propositions for yourself any time you like simply by investigating awareness – by becoming aware of awareness itself. It is easy, but we hardly ever think to do it because awareness, like the present moment itself, is a virtually hidden dimension in our lives, embedded everywhere and therefore not so noticeable anywhere.



If you move into pure awareness in the midst of pain, even for the tiniest moment, your relationship with your pain is going to shift right in that very moment. It is impossible for it not to change because the gesture of holding it, even if not sustained for long, even for a second or two, already reveals a larger dimension. And that shift in your relationship with the experience gives you more degrees of freedom in your attitude and in your actions in a given situation, whatever it is … even if you don’t know what to do.

Awareness transforms emotional pain just as it transforms the pain that we attribute more to the domain of body sensations. When we are immersed in emotional pain, if we pay close attention, we will notice that there is always an overlay of thoughts and a plethora of different feelings about the pain we are in, so here too the entire constellation of what we think of as emotional pain can be welcomed in and held in awareness, crazy as that may sound at first blush. It is amazing how unused we are to doing such a thing, and how profoundly revealing and liberating it can be to engage our emotions and feelings in this way, even when they are raging or despairing – especially when they are raging or despairing.



From Coming to Our Senses: Healing Ourselves and the World through Mindfulness, Jon Kabat-Zinn, Hyperion: NY, 2005; pp. 88-89.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Catching Up -- Surgery

8/9: Arthroscopic surgery, r. shoulder. Torn cartilage, bone spurs fraying rotator cuff, arthritis, bursa impingement. Spurs carved off; bone beneath cartilage shaved off; cartilage rivted into bone wound; approx. half the bursa burned away. Physical therapy started three weeks ago.

8/23: Began teaching yoga in fitness room of nearby office building, Wednesdays and Fridays, 45 minutes during lunch hour. Classes vary from 5 to 12 students. Vinyasa style. Each class requires preparation, thought, presentation. To stay connected with my own practice, I’ve tried to find an evening each week when I can adjust for a teacher-friend of mine’s class. It helps her manage her 20-30 student classes; it helps me stay connected to my own practice; and it allows me the benefit of observing a very talented and experienced teacher at the same time that I’m managing new issues in my own teaching.

Shoulder is getting stronger, though the night and day following a hard PT session can be excruciating.

Managed handstand for a few seconds yesterday. Curiously – I suppose because of alignment – Handstand is less painful than down dog or any of the bent-arm balances.

My own yoga comes before dawn or just before bed.

Meditation has recently been instructed by Sharon Salzberg’s book, Loving-kindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness. Each chapter ends with exercises. They make a marvelous way to go inside of compassion.

Looking forward to hearing the Dalai Lama next week.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Moment of clarity

A couple of weeks ago:

I’m trembling, both hands flat on the mat beneath me, my left thigh resting on my right elbow, that leg extended forward and to the right, the right leg extended into the air behind me. My face is four inches from the floor. I look forward and see the right foot of the person next to me, eight inches away from me. The toes are spread wide, toe nails painted red and a little chipped. Stretching back from the toes, the leg is perfectly straight all the way to the hip. She, too, is balanced on her palms, looking forward and away from me. My vision is crystal clear. The moment is imbued with energies extending in all directions. We are practicing revolved, scissored side Crow, balanced on hands, arms bent at the elbow, with right thigh on left elbow, left leg extended back. Sweat drips from my brow.

In the midst of intense physical exertion, balance and breath, there is absolute stillness.

In a recent practice, the teacher called us from samasthiti to twine our legs into garudasana, Eagle pose, while keeping our arms untwined, palms pressed together at the heart. The pose embodies two different kinds of opposition, two different ways to experience the union of duality. The classic Eagle pose (http://www.bikramyoga.com/Yoga/images/Eagles.jpg) twines both legs and arms. The twining creating helicies of energy, right thigh pressing down on left, left pressing up on right, right knee pressing the left knee to the right, left knee pressing right to the left, left calf pressing back into the right that is wrapped behind it, right calf pressing forward into left, right ankle pressing the left ankle to the right, the left pressing the right leftward, the energy of the legs grounded firmly and completely in the sole of the left foot. In the variation last night, arms unwrapped, with palms drawn into prayer position at the heart, I felt the heat of each palm pressed against the other as a single heat; each fingerprint pressing its opposite, a single pressure.

One way to engage opposing forces is directly, maintaining poise between equal and opposing pressures. This is the classic model of my profession. We train and practice to oppose, argue evidence, principles of law, construe and assemble disparate facts into conflicting stories. Palm pressed to opposing palm, finger to opposing finger, the pressure and heat of the opposition experienced at the plane of interaction. But the legs of the modified garudasana – that was the part of the pose that opened my mind. The legs were engaged in even greater exertion, twining, roping themselves. But rather than creating equipoise through exact balance of equal and opposing forces, the legs twine, each leg presses left and right and left and right as it wraps around and into its counterpart – an entirely different way of engaging with opposing forces, one that creates one – One – from two.

Friday, August 11, 2006

Wrong, wrong, wrong

A typical set of instructions:

Interlace your fingers, extend your index fingers, and raise your arms over your head. Bend to the right, extending your left hip. Hold here for five breaths. Come back to center. Release your hands and shift your fingers to place the opposite thumb on the outside. Interlace your fingers again, feeling the difference in your fingers. Bend to the left, extending your right hip. Hold here for five breaths. Come back to center.

Why change the interlacing of fingers? Try it right now, and see. Interlace your fingers the “normal” way. Unlace your fingers, and try it with the other thumb on the outside. All of us at some point interlace our fingers the “wrong” way. I did it before I took up the practice of yoga. But in doing so, I understood it to be the wrong way. Unnatural. Out of order. The first time I received this instruction in a yoga class, I had no clear idea of what it was supposed to do. But because the teacher called for it, I did it. It poked the “wrong” part of my brain. And, in the full light of awareness, the wrongness was obviously … well … wrong. It makes no sense that one hand grip should be wrong, another right. But that’s what my brain had concluded, with or without my conscious consent.

The same teacher, a couple of years later, elaborated the point while we were in a resting pose. “This week,” she said, “do something the wrong way – anything – put on your pants starting with the ‘wrong’ leg; answer the telephone with your ‘wrong’ hand; thread your belt through the beltloops of your pants the opposite way that you usually do. Become aware.” So that week, I put my belt on backwards, threading it through starting on right-hand side instead of the left. For some reason, that felt more “wrong” than interlacing my fingers. When I went to take the belt off at the end of the day, I started off wrongly, expecting the tail of the belt to be where it always had been. Unsettling.

Mindfulness – awareness of the operation of one’s own mind – is unsettling.

One day I was exploring a canyon in the slickrock sandstone formations of eastern Utah. It was August, midday, and blazing hot. I followed the dry streambed up the canyon. After a couple of miles, I came across a plunge pool formed where the stream poured over an eight-foot drop, gouging out the sandstone at the base of the waterfall. While in flood, it was probably a torrent, in the midday sun of a dry week of a pretty dry month, all that remained was sun-warmed water, clear and transparent at the shallow edges of the pool, a darkening bottle green as it deepened toward the base of the overhanging wall. Stepping into the water was marvelous. Even warmed by the sun, it refreshed toes and legs and mind, a stark change from the heat and rock and sweat and sand of the prior miles. But the deeper I moved into the pool, the more muck I churned up. The water went from crystalline to puffs of brown muck to a swirling, opaque tangle of stirred-up silt.

Mindfulness is like that. It upsets the settled sediment of a mind.

Monday, August 07, 2006

Memory Error

How much of me isn’t me without memories?

Perhaps like other middle-aged people, I find myself in the middle of a conversation wondering whether I’ve told a particular story to a particular person.

What would life look like if I let go of my stories accumulated to date?

On some occasions, I’d be missing out on the chance to convey a point in a particularly effective manner – fact is, stories make things more memorable and make ideas more credible. So there is that. And if I truly let go of and forget the prior accumulation of stories, perhaps I’ll lose the opportunity to link today to yesterday. But is that really so much of a loss?

What’s to gain? If I really let go of old stories, perhaps I’ll be open to new ones – to seeing things that are currently stuck in ossified categories in new, less ossified, ways.

In an expert’s mind, there are few alternatives; in a beginner’s, many.

So I may forego telling old stories for the next several months, just to see what happens.

New wine; old bottles.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Shiva

In various of my class notes, I’ve posted variations on the story of Shiva’s invention of yoga, following tens of thousands of years of focused meditation on a mountaintop. The classic statute of dancing Shiva shows him holding up a hand in the “stop” position, a jewel embedded in the palm of that hand, symbolizing the action of stopping the endless chatter of the mind through single-pointed concentration, diamond hard and diamond clear.

So is there somewhere in heaven a God in the yogic pantheon perched continually on one leg, the other raised in the dance, four arms akimbo, surrounded by a ring of fire? No. Or at least not one that I’ve encountered. In my way of thinking, Shiva is the embodiment, the essence, the very conception, of single point concentration – the most refined, most concentrated focus imaginable. Perhaps unexpectedly, that tight focus leads to great, infinite – freedom.

In my version of the Hindu pantheon, Shiva is the embodiment of ending, of destruction, of closure, of fire. Not usually the part of life we’re accustomed to celebrating. But through a whole variety of experiences, I’ve come to grasp something of the notion of a god of destruction.

First, there’s the whole “awesome” thing. Quick example to get us started: give a seven-year-old boy a hammer and an alarm clock, and total permission to do whatever he wants, no punishment of any kind, no matter what. Then watch – not just the process, but also, in particular, the boy’s face. There’s something pretty primordial – pretty sublime – to destruction, especially to spectacular destruction. If a car catches fire on the road, what do the other drivers do? They look. Some will even stop to watch.

***

Several years ago, my family traveled from Denver to a small town in Idaho for the 4th of July. As happens across the country, the town had scheduled a fireworks display to begin shortly after dark. After dinner, but hours before dark, we headed to the park/golf course where the event was scheduled. And as is customary in the western US (we never had such luxuries in the east where I grew up), lots and lots of folk arrived early, laid out their picnics and blankets, and proceeded to shoot off their own bottle rockets, firecrackers, shriekers, smoke bombs, Roman candles and the like.

The town had roped off and set aside space for such collateral antics, in the hopes of keeping the excitement a reasonable distance from picnic blankets, but antinomianism tends to rule the day in this part of Idaho, and bottle rockets were zipping from everywhere to everywhere. One – or maybe it was an errant Roman candle – lodged in a lone pine tree on a fairway. Lodgepole pines only form the straight lodgepoles they’re named after when they grow tightly packed together in forests and thickets. This one, all alone on a fairway, was a big bushy thing. Its needles were at the mid-summer’s highest point of dryness. And with the ignition of an errant firework, it lit up like a torch.

We were situated about two hundred yards from the tree, well out of harm’s way, but with a clear view of events, albeit at a distance. Everyone near the tree backed away to a moderate distance, watching. The handily close fire engine sirened up and headed over. As the flames engulfed the tree, those who had moved back once, moved back some more. And something else was remarkable – things got a lot quieter. The background din of hundreds of picnics and chatting and radio music suddenly became the peculiar sound of the oblivious radios and the hushed tones of hundreds of humans turned to watch the fire.

Once the initial flash burn of outer needles subsided, the fire engine got close enough to spout water over the tree, a process that doused the flames, though much more slowly than I’d expected from my experience of dropping a match into a glass of water.

The tree extinguished, a sense of relief moved through the crowd that generally returned to its pre-show level of din.

My two oldest boys went off to the roped off area to light off the pyrotechnics we’d picked up for the day. The adults talked and chatted as the dusk settled toward darkness.

Beyond the roped off area for personal pyrotechnics was another roped off area for the official fireworks. I saw a man dressed in fire gear holding a torch move to the first set. He ignited a fuse, backed away, and a rocket shot into the sky and began the evening’s intended display. He ignited a second fuse, backed away, and, instead of heading up to the sky, the rocket tipped and shot, as if it were a cartoon, straight into the cluster of yet-to-be-fired fireworks. The man in the fire gear backed away. One after another, a chain reaction of fireworks igniting one another began and grew to an unbelievably large burst of flame and spark and colors and sounds and heat. The experience reminded me that fireworks are designed to explode several hundred feet in the sky, where their heat dissipates. Not so for fireworks on the ground, let alone all of them at once.

Our oldest boys, between us and the fireball, but still far from any real danger, came running straight back to us, silhouetted against the growing fireball. Farther back, the man in fire gear began running away, too.

The huge ball of fire grew for a time, as the heat ignited even those fireworks that hadn’t been directly in line of a spark or flame. It was, literally, awesome. Terrible. Enrapturing. Fearsome.

***

When I was first taught to chant OM, the teacher explained that it was really composed of three sounds, not two. Instead of “O” and “M,” as one chants it, the sounds run from “Ah” to “U” to “M.” And, my teacher explained, the silence that precedes and follows the OM is as much a part of the OM as the experience of the vibrations that form the sound components. OM is a manifestation of existence: it begins. It sustains vibration for a time. And it ends. The end is as much a part as the beginning.

***

One last example. Several months ago, during my teacher training, the instructor introduced us to the practice of placing gifts – sacrifices to the gods – onto an altar that is then ignited and burned. Svahah is the phrase for the practice – giving up something to the divine fire. Whether the offering is a measure of flour or a ten-dollar-bill or a no-longer-needed emotion or a practice that no longer serves one or whatever, “svahah” is the phrase for letting it go.

A student comes to a teacher and asks the teacher for wisdom. The teacher lifts a teacup and begins pouring in tea. The cup fills, yet the teacher pours. The tea spills over the sides and to the floor, yet the teacher keeps pouring. The student is alarmed and asks why the teacher would keep pouring tea into an already filled teacup. “Exactly,” says the teacher.

First, svahah.

***

So what is Shiva, what is a single point meditation? A meditation focus can be the breath, it can be the fluctuations of the mind, it can be other things. It is investing all of my awareness in that focus. I’ve never managed (or even tried) to sit on a meditation cushion (or my feet or a block or whatever) for more than a pretty short period. But even so, the effect of that meditation is not limited to the seconds I’m in meditation.

Is that because I, effectively, am in meditation “off the cushion”? Or is it that the meditation simply affects more than the time in which it occurs?

If so, how is that? Is it through memory? Changes to neural pathways – like a highway construction today can change traffic patterns tomorrow? Left over brain chemicals? Are the effects limited to myself or a function of the way that I interact with others, so that even if I’m not benefiting from yesterday’s practice, others I dealt with “under the influence” have changed in response to that, and continue to interact with me today?

Whatever the mechanism or technology involved, yoga changes things off, as well as on, the mat.
So when I begin a practice chanting “OM namah shivaya,” am I not worshipping a Hindu deity? If you want, ok. But it’s an awfully not-too-anthropomorphic deity – it is god embedded in the operation of consciousness, god-imbued fields and particles dancing, god-like patterns of focus and mindfulness, concentration and expansion, attention and awareness. It is the endlessly expanding, concentric effects of concentration.

***

Before I step onto my yoga mat, I bring my hands to my heart in the anjali mudra,
, or “prayer position,” to honor the empty space above my mat, into which I will move, and within which I will flow during my practice.

The space is negative, empty, vacant, void.

Yet it is the field without which my consciousness could not move at all.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Alertness and Relaxation

Asana must have the dual qualities of alertness and relaxation.
--Yoga Sutras, 2:46

So said Patanjali a few thousand years ago.

Why those two characteristics? Shouldn’t asana have the quality of strength? Of flexibility? Of curiosity? Of contemplation?

I’ve been practicing this week trying to keep in mind the qualities of alertness and relaxation. In that practice, they seem to be connected – by their absence, if nothing else. I tend toward striving in my practice. I suspect that it isn’t coincidental that the noun for striving is strife. I frequently feel a kind of strife in various poses – backbending Crescent Lunge, Dolphin, Horse, a few others. When I move into those poses, I’ve come to expect discomfort, weakness, inflexibility. Strife, I suppose. And, of course, strife manifests not only in my mind, but in my body, as well. My toes clench the floor. Sometimes my shoulders rise toward my ears. The crease between my eyebrows deepens. The breath stops or accelerates.

Teachers pick up on those details. They coach, cajole, joke, touch, trying to draw my attention out of the strife. And always, they call for steady breath, in and out through the nose.

Why?

What is the difference between a mind that is striving and a mind that is relaxed and alert? One can engage only its own object. The other can engage everything.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Home-styling

Since I completed training, several friends have expressed interest in learning more about yoga.
Sometimes the discussion starts with a bit of yearning: "I wish I were more flexible. Yoga helps with that, right?" Sometimes with a particular question, "I think I can do all of the sun salutation. Is there more?" or "Down Dog hurts my shoulder. Am I doing something wrong?" Usually, though, it's more generalized: "I'd like to be able to relax and be quiet."

The conversations tend to end awkwardly, as I don't teach at a studio to which I could invite them. I try to respond helpfully, but as I talk, I see the light and interest fade as they realize there's no obvious solution.

So here's what I'm thinking: perhaps one evening a week when I'm in town, I'll hold an "open workshop" at my house. I'll be practicing that evening. I'll clear a space in the living room for mats, and anyone who wants to come is welcome to join in. What I haven't figured out exactly is how such an evening would proceed. But I'm inclined to play it by ear and see. Or at least that's what I'm thinking of, right now.

What would you think of such a thing?

bodies bodies everywhere

The Body Worlds 2 exhibit has been open at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science for several weeks. My wife, my youngest son, and I finally got around to attending on Saturday.

No blinding flashes of insight. Just the same kind of fascination I had with the cadaver work we did during teacher training, I described several months ago here.

Perhaps one key gain: a deeper appreciation for the fact that consciousness can be embodied, and what is missing when it is not. So far as I can tell, consciousness can exist only embodied, whether my own or a chicken's. (Note: I'm not inclined to test my theory beyond the chicken level at this point. ;-))

That recognition makes me appreciate a little more the very ability to perceive and experience and move and feel.

Something to think about in this evening's practice.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Calm Abiding

In the course of a long practice session, the instructor calls for vrksasana, Tree Pose. It’s one of the really-basic-everyone-does-it-reasonably-well poses. But we don’t do it all that frequently in the vinyasa classes I tend to frequent. Perhaps it’s too static, too calm. Perhaps it’s too “easy.” It consists, basically, of simply standing on one foot, the other foot propped against the standing leg. From there, you can certainly embroider it, if you want, but that’s the gist of the pose.

The instructor calls the pose. I move into it: left foot flat on the floor, ankle strong and centered, knee in full extension, hip as neutral as if standing on both feet, right foot aligned heel-to-toe along my supporting left femur, toes just reaching the top of the left knee capsule. Right, bent knee drawn back, opening the pelvis. Torso and ribs lifted. Arms, yesterday, clasped hands to opposite elbows behind me, putting a little bend in my lower back. Neck long, chin slightly tucked, lengthening the cervical spine just a little bit more. Gaze one-pointed and steady.

I turn my inward attention to my left foot. It is stable, today. Sometimes I tend to balance on the outer edge of the foot in vrkasana, to counter the weight of the bent right leg. Today, though, my hips make the counter-weighting adjustment, my standing foot quiet, stable, strong.

And I find in the quiet, stable, and strong attention of my foot, the power of yoga. Yoga, as I’ve noted before, is union, yoking together. In vrksasana, now, it is the yoking together of my standing foot and all the immensity of the earth beneath it. Not some metaphysical union, though that happens sometimes. Not even a Whitmanesque conceptual union, though that happens at other times. Just the simple union of two, each strong, quiet, and stable, in contact along a plane of connection, each pressing against and supported by the other. Partner yoga, indeed.

Tree pose teaches rootedness.