Dim the lights. All eyes on me and my halo for a second.
What's with the nigh-constant messiah complex? It's a serious question. I pose it not to be flippant but out of some sincere concern. The lives of messiahs rarely end well, and yet the animal advocacy movement seems full of them (myself especially). The tendency toward cult of personalities, the need for attention even when it's negative, as well as the tendency to paper over differences of opinion so that we can be one big happy family trouble me. It's not about us and our need for leadership, attention, or salvation. It's about nonhuman animals, their right not to be used as property, and our unequivocal duty to go vegan in light of that right.
I'm not blaming anyone. I was raised both Irish-American and Catholic, and it's hard to think of a more contrarian upbringing that lends itself more to a messiah complex. That's two strikes already. Even still, there's a curious double motion in the rhetoric of some parts of our community: "We're all working toward the same things, brothers and sisters -- except for those divisive abolitionist devils over there! Hallelujah! Don't forget to put some offerings in the plate!" I can see all the self-righteousness, but I wonder where the love is.
Still, that's not really the topic of this blog (and yes, I'm getting there). It's not even to propose that advocates seek therapy for their messiah complexes. That's probably too much to ask. Instead, it's to propose that those of you who feel as though you've heard the call dial back the Jesus, channel a little more about Noah. That's also not meant to be a slight to Jesus in any way. But the problem he was trying to solve and the problem that Noah was trying to solve were different. Between the two, I'm proposing that Noah provides a better model, if, indeed, we just can't shake off our personal emotional needs to be the focus of attention.
To be clear, it's nothing against other Old or New Testament figures (or figures from other religious traditions). I'm just most familiar with the Judeo-Christian tradition. For those who don't know already, I narrowly dodged the Catholic priesthood, and who got the better end of that near miss (me or Benedict XVI) I can't say. I suppose that's enough sacrilege for one blog; I don't want the Legion of Veg*n Decency after me.
In fact, Moses isn't an entirely bad example either. He had a clear objective (getting the ancient Hebrews free), a clear plan (dialogue with Pharaoh), and a set of tactics that matched that plan pretty well (leaving the slavery of Egypt in an orderly march). He was firm, but not overly confrontational when he told Pharaoh to let his people go. He also had a clear sense of the basic rights of the Hebrews not to be used as the property of the Egyptians, as well as the unequivocal obligation of the Egyptians to let the Hebrews go in light of that right. He wasn't proposing reducing their suffering, an economic boycott or a nicer slavery. He was proposing an abolition of that slavery, period.
Furthermore, Moses also wasn't ashamed to tell Pharaoh that he was a Hebrew, and I can't help but feel he provides a role model for all of the would-be movement celebrities who are ashamed to even mention that they are vegan. It troubles me that so many of our celebrities are in a rush to lead us forward, but when they get to the microphone, they tell everyone that they're not like the rest of us: "they're all crazy, angry, and fanatical. I'm the reasonable one. Let me be your interpreter!" Shameful. I am not angry in the slightest.
But I'm troubled by the nonhuman animal use in the story very much (in the form of the plagues), and I'm troubled by the killing and mayhem involved. It's true that Pharaoh limits the choice of Yaweh by refusing to respect the rights of the Hebrews. But given that animal advocates are not held in slavery today, that we are not prohibited from acting today in ways that can irrevocably and radically change the system (nonviolent creative vegan outreach), the story of Moses provides a problematic model. It proposes that we conflate ourselves with nonhuman animals and understand ourselves as slaves.
Given the preponderance of the slave mentality among many animal advocates today, I can see this story is at work in the minds of any. Thinking about something Roger Yates has said, it seems clear to me that an unfounded pessimism shackles the minds of many of us to meaningless welfare reforms, to pointless violence, or a meaningless and pointless combination of the two. But solidarity, as a type of work and social struggle, involves understanding that we ourselves are not the oppressed, that we are their agents, and that as their agents, we are freer to act on their behalf, and that we should do so carefully, humbly and diligently. I'm not asking anyone to stop working; just to think more about the work we're doing.
It's also nothing against Jesus. There are parts of Jesus' plan of work that provide us with an excellent example: education, nonviolent mass-movement building, self-sacrifice. It's the Crucifixion part and the martyrdom that I think provides a mixed model for advocates today. It's not that I don't value the Crucifixion or the martyrdom per se, it's just that it's been done. Advocates don't have an obligation to martyr themselves, nor is their martyrdom helpful to nonhuman animals. We can be a little more creative with our work.
In practice, among some advocates at least, I find the messiah complex also reflects a tendency towards elitism; it poses a false humility that often papers over what seems like a self-esteem so fragile that it requires a nigh-constant nurturing. You can't go around telling other people to be humble and to stop being divisive without trying to hoard an inappropriate authority in doing do so yourself. Telling others what to think and how to behave involves a claim to authority, and the very least we can do with that authority is to ask others to do right with it, not tell others to do wrong with it. That's probably more than enough psychoanalysis for me in one blog.
Suffice it to say, you can all get off the cross: the rest of us need the wood to build an Ark.
Before anyone gets too wound up, I say that in good faith. I'm a big-temple person: I prefer to push away with the left hand and draw closer with the right. So, why Noah? Well, there's the whole Ark thing. I like stories of building things that involve a sound understanding of engineering principles. Clearly, Noah had skills and was willing to do work. God also tells Noah to save nonhuman animals. I have to say, I like that part as well. I also like that Noah doesn't go around dickering with reforms to the existing system, and he doesn't play Pharisee while pretending to be Jesus the way some regulationist celebtrities do.
He also doesn't stand around practicing his poses while talking about saving nonhuman animals. Like those who save the lives of nonhuman animals on a daily basis in shelters, by fostering, and by adopting nonhuman animals, without even so much as a press release, Noah just goes go to work. Two by two. I like the objective (saving nonhuman animals), I like the motivation (because nonhuman animals have inherent moral value), and I even like the strategy and tactics (nonviolence and Ark building).
But I don't like the fact that Noah wasn't even vegan himself. Nor do I like the ending where Jehovah tells Noah that nonhuman animals are for his use. On the other hand, no story is perfect and this was the Old Testament. I don't like the fact that Noah uses a dove to save his ass, but I'm not at all surprised that the story reminds us that it was a nonhuman animal who helped save every sentient being on earth. But this story should remind us all, so long as nonhuman animals are property and not persons, their interests will always be subjugated to the interests of human beings.
Against my more fiery judgement, I think we can excuse Noah. It's not clear that he understood that he didn't need nonhuman animals either for his health, the environment or entertainment (the way that those of you reading this blog do). And since it took many of us decades to go vegan ourselves, often with substantial help and education, I'm sure we can agree that what we owe nonhuman animals is not always self-evident. If I had been around in the Old Testament days to give him one of Gary Francione's pamphlets, he might have changed his mind.
I hope the moral is clear here: our work as advocates is not a matter of reaction or martyrdom; it's a matter of solidarity, veganism, and acknowledging that our work should be guided by what's best for those we're seeking to help, that it involves a clear objective, a clear and consistent strategy and a clear and consistent set of tactics. Each of those parts is important.
There is, indeed, even a moral to this story for nonvegans as well. Veganism is not a matter of martyrdom or elitism. It's a matter of conscience and humility. Like Moses, we may never see the promised land, but no one's going to get there without a lot of hard work and willingness to follow a map. And like Noah, if we want to get to Ararat, we need to understand that nonhuman animals are persons just like us, that our relationship is not a matter of salvation, it's a matter of solidarity, and that if we ever hope to get anywhere, we all need to start paddling.
In short, if you're not vegan, please go vegan today, and if you want to learn more about abolition, please read my other articles or have a read through www.abolitionistapproach.com.
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