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Review
by: Steve Baker
University of Central Lancashire, United Kingdom
Carol
J. Adams
Neither Man nor Beast: Feminism and the Defense of Animals
New York: Continuum, 1994. 271 pp. $24.95.
Lynda
Birke
Feminism, Animals and Science: The Naming of the Shrew
Philadelphia: Open University, 1994. viii, 167 pp. $23.00 paper.
Carol
J. Adams and Josephine Donovan, Eds.
Animals and Women: Feminist Theoretical Explorations
Durham: Duke University, 1995. ix, 374 pp. $16.95.
The brief I was given
for this review essay was to explore the significance of postmodern
thought for animal studies. I have chosen to do so by focusing
on three volumes of feminist writing on animals. In the 1990s
feminist theory has made a crucial contribution to the development
of animal advocacy, and it has also been one of the few areas
of writing on animals to begin to acknowledge the impact of
postmodernism in contemporary thought. I therefore think it
important that the emerging discipline of animal studies,
with which Society and Animals concerns itself,
should look seriously at the issues raised in these writings.
The
Absence of a Postmodern Perspective
A recent
editorial in the campaigning magazine The Animals' Agenda
noted that despite 20 years of activism and philosophical
debate, the contemporary animal rights movement (usually dated
from the 1975 publication of Singer's Animal Liberation
) has still "not established animal rights as an accepted
discipline in the academic catalog, as women and African-Americans
have done for their respective histories and concerns" (Stallwood,
1994, p. 44). Journals such as Society and Animals
are, of course, now helping to achieve that academic acceptance,
partly by identifying animal studies as the academic "parallel"
of the animal rights movement (Shapiro, 1993a, p. 2).
However,
when the disciplines of Women's Studies and of Race and Ethnic
Studies (the titles currently used in my own university) began
to find a place in the academy, they did so in part by quickly
engaging with the cutting edges of contemporary theory, especially
continental theory. Their concern with the stark realities of
social injustice did not make them shy away from difficult and
seemingly abstract questions, such as what feminism might learn
from (or dispute in) Lacanian psychoanalysis, or how critiques
of colonialism might profitably borrow from Derrida's account
of deconstruction.
Until
very recently, these kinds of questions have been largely absent
from debates about animals. Their relevance has not been perceived.
A rare exception was an early S&A editorial proposing
that the debate "between modernism and postmodernism" may indeed
be relevant to animal studies (Shapiro, 1993b, p. 109). It will
be my contention in this essay that most of the relevant work
on postmodernism and animals is currently being undertaken,
implicitly or explicitly, in the kinds of feminist writings
under review here.
Toward
some Provisional Definitions
In recent
times, popular references to postmodernism have often
taken it to be a blanket term for all theoretical perspectives
on our current condition. These would include poststructuralism,
deconstruction, psychoanalysis, various feminisms, and postmodernism
itself. This entirely glosses over deconstructionist and feminist
denouncements of specific aspects of postmodernism, but the
growing acceptance of this broader use of the term means that
these distinctions may soon be regarded as academic wrangling
of only specialized interest. Postmodernism has become a useful
label. An appropriate comparison might be with the way in which
the term "animal rights" has until very recently served (in
what Singer calls "a concession to popular rhetoric") as a label
for all those interests that go beyond the scope of
animal "welfare," without necessarily involving an engagement
with precise philosophical definitions of the contentious notion
of rights (Singer, 1980, p. 327).
A further
point here, to add to the confusion which some readers will
doubtless find exasperating, is that both postmodernism and
feminism are characterized by a frequent refusal of
certainties and definitions. Postmodernism, it has been suggested,
is best understood as " a way of thinking about history
and representation that claims there can be no final understanding."
The same author proposes that feminism "is perhaps the clearest
instance of a force that has retained its political drive precisely
through a refusal to be pinned down to certainties" (Elam, 1992,
pp. 10, 22). This openness, I hope to show, is actually productive
for any radical rethinking of questions about animals which
is undertaken on behalf of animals.
The fact
that there is no single postmodernism, just as there is no single
feminism, does not prevent us from identifying some common areas
of concern. Shapiro characterizes postmodernism thus:
Postmodernism
assumes that reality as we know it is necessarily a social construction
and directs the investigator to develop methods that reflect
on, "deconstruct" and, generally, interpret that construction.
The Enlightenment project of finding an ultimate truth is abandoned...for
the more limited project of understanding the world as we are
continually constructing it....(1993b, p. 109)
In Neither
Man Nor Beast , Adams similarly proposes that "feminism
does not solely address relationships between women and men,
but is an analytic tool that helps to expose the social construction
of reality" (p. 14). This is hardly sufficient common ground,
however, since in itself it takes us little further than Berger
and Luckmann's classic 1960s text on The Social Construction
of Reality , which did not claim to be either feminist
or postmodernist.
More
detailed comparisons take us immediately into fairly complex
theoretical territory. It has been proposed, for example, that
both feminism and postmodernism share a commitment "to the project
of deconstructing both the subject and the `master narratives'
of history" (Waugh, 1989,
p. 16).
This short but dense phrase calls for careful unpacking, but
it identifies two of the three major themes or characteristics
of postmodernism which will concern us here, each of which finds
urgent and politicized expression in feminist writing on animal
issues.
Three
Important Themes
The first
of these is the critique of the "subject," the term here signifying
the individual or the self as it has generally been understood
within the heritage of Enlightenment thought: an autonomous
individual, self-contained, self-possessed and self-certain.
The second theme, a skepticism concerning "the `master narratives'
of history," applies to any systems of thought which seek to
account for the entire range of human experience, examples of
which may be as varied as Marxism and Christianity. The third
theme to be added to these is a thoroughgoing mistrust of the
Western tradition of dualistic thought which can certainly be
traced back as far as Aristotle, but which has posed particular
problems for animal advocates in its Cartesian formulation.
I will deal with the recent history of these themes in a little
more detail before considering their direct relevance to animal
studies.
The
Subject
In 1969
Foucault influentially argued for what he called the "decentering"
of the human subject in the contemporary world: "the researches
of psychoanalysis, of linguistics, of anthropology have `decentered'
the subject in relation to the laws of its desire, the forms
of its language, the rules of its actions, or the play of its
mythical and imaginative discourse" (quoted in Culler, 1981,
p. 33). This was a refinement of the picture he had offered
in 1966 at the conclusion of The Order of Things ,
in which he envisaged the possibility of circumstances
arising in which "man's mode of being as constituted in modern
thought" might "crumble," so that--in his famous phrase--"man
would be erased, like a face drawn in sand at the edge of the
sea" (Foucault, 1970, pp. 344, 387). These ideas were of great
significance for the development of poststructuralist thought
in the 1970s, as was Barthes' 1968 essay on "The death of the
author," which explored similar territory (Barthes, 1977). For
Foucault, too, the notion of the god-like "author" represented
"the privileged moment of individualization in the
history of ideas" (1979, p. 141). These matters will be important
when we consider the postmodern consequences of calls for animals
to be treated as "individuals," and as "subjects" rather than
objects.
Master
Narratives
One of
the best-known definitions of postmodernism is Lyotard's assertion
that it is characterized by an "incredulity toward metanarratives"
(1985, xxiv). The danger of these master or grand
or meta narratives is that they tend to prescribe
what will count as legitimate knowledge, whether in the fields
of science, the law, religion, history or whatever, and that
in doing so they defend the status quo. An "incredulity" toward
them is not exclusively postmodern: recent work on the "linguistic
turn" in history, for example, has charted a wide variety of
more provisional and combative forms of history-writing in recent
decades (Samuel, 1991, 1992). Nevertheless, these narratives
have managed to retain much of their traditional persuasiveness,
based on an air of objectivity and reliability. I have myself
argued that any reassessment of our historical understanding
of animals will depend in part on a willingness to challenge
"the unique explanatory force that history is able to claim
for itself" (Baker, 1993, p. 9). This is because one of the
effects of grand narratives is to legitimate the pervasive "systems
of domination" which both Adams and Birke identify as continuing
to oppress women, animals, and others.
Dualism
In the
1950s and 1960s, in the heyday of French structuralism, the
binary oppositions which structure much of our language and
culture were not usually seen as being particularly problematic;
they were described by one commentator as "the common denominator
of all thought." By the 1970s, however, it was very widely understood
that oppositional or dualistic thought was never value-free;
in any pair of terms (good/bad, active/passive, light/dark),
one would be culturally privileged over the other. The move
from structuralism to poststructuralism has in fact been quite
usefully summarized as a shift from an emphasis on opposition
to a concern with difference . Part of this impetus
came from French feminist thought: Cixous's writings in the
mid-1970s, for example, include a trenchant critique of dualism's
role in the grand narratives of patriarchal thought (Cixous
& Clément, 1986).
Animal
advocates and animal studies academics are of course already
well aware of the effects of Cartesian dualism, with its emphasis
on mind versus body, human versus animal,
and reason versus emotion. The distinctive contribution
made by feminist and postmodern perspectives, I would suggest,
which is very evident in the books reviewed here, is the insistence
that all three of the themes discussed here must be taken together,
deconstructed together: they cannot be dismantled bit by bit.
Feminism,
Postmodernism and Animals
Adams'
Neither Man Nor Beast and Birke's Feminism, Animals
and Science both address, directly if only rather briefly,
the relation of postmodernism to their own feminist strategies
on behalf of animals. Quoting another writer's observation that
"to see animals differently would require human beings to see
themselves differently also," Adams asks "upon what theoretical
ground" feminists who defend animals should stake their non-dualistic
and non-hierarchical "envisioning" of the relation of animals
and humans (p. 12). She aptly describes the complexity of her
dilemma:
On
the one hand, malestream [ sic ] animal rights and
liberation theory appears to place itself squarely within
an Enlightenment epistemology of autonomous subjects, a liberal
paradigm riddled with...contradictions....On the other hand,
just when feminist grand narratives presuming a unitary "subject,"
a universal "woman,"...come tumbling down, some of us appear
to be urging yet another grand narrative--"animals." Such
an anachronism seems to marginalize our theoretical contributions.
(p. 12)
Acknowledging
that "the tumbling away of a unitary subject opens up space
for discussing other-than-human subjects" (p. 12), she generously
refers to my own work as an example of a specific attempt to
extend the concerns of "postmodern" theory "to encompass animals"
(p. 208).
Adams
recognizes the irony of continuing to argue that animals be
granted the status of "individuals" and "subjects" (rather than
objects) at a time when these terms are falling into postmodern
disrepute. Notwithstanding the fact that in the language of
psychoanalysis, which has influenced postmodern thought, the
term "object" carries no negative connotations when
applied to a living being. Adams is as aware as anyone of the
desirability of undoing the subject/object opposition. The important
thing is the idea to which she holds of seeing selves differently
(whether human or animal), and that is entirely consistent
with the priorities of much postmodern politics.
Birke
names postmodernism as one of the strands of feminist criticism
of science by which she has been influenced, and she summarizes
it thus: "Here, an important concern is to question any universalizing
claim (or `master narrative' such as positivist science), and
to deconstruct boundaries (such as subject/object...)" (p. 144).
She cites Haraway's recent work as an important example here.
Birke, however, has "reservations about wholeheartedly taking
postmodernism on board." Two of these reservations seem especially
pertinent. The first is a concern that postmodernism's preoccupation
with texts, discourses, and an apparently endless chain of representations
and simulacra risks losing sight of the realities
of human cruelty and animal pain. The second is a concern that
postmodernism's celebration of the "death of the subject" in
fact celebrates the death of a privileged white male human subjectivity,
and in doing so often complacently overlooks the fact that both
animals and women have, Birke argues, traditionally "been denied
subjectivity" (p. 146).
These
objections are not to be dismissed lightly. Contemporary theoretical
perspectives, postmodern or otherwise, will be of no use to
animal advocates unless they can be framed in a way which acknowledges
the lived experience of both animals and humans, and which refuses
to set artificial boundaries as to who will count as the subject
of one of the "different selves" envisaged by Adams.
Earlier
Uses of Continental Theory
It is
easy to forget that Haraway's work on a feminist primatology
showed the influence of poststructuralist and postmodern thought
from at least the mid-1980s. It included references to such
writers as Foucault, Baudrillard, and Jameson, and to the idea
of categories of identity (such as "woman") as social constructions
with little conceptual stability (Haraway, 1986, p. 94). Only
rather more recently, however, have these influences been felt
in texts explicitly concerning themselves with the question
of animal rights.
A previous
issue of S&A listed Tester's book Animals
and Society and my Picturing the Beast as examples
of "post-structuralist studies of animal issues." In tracing
a history of the idea of animal rights, Tester's contention
is that "animal rights is a social construction and exclusively
a social practice," and that in appearing to deny its historical
contingency the contemporary animal rights movement is "fetishistically
upholding obligations which are made and not found" (1991, pp.
194-95). In place of this alleged disregard of history, Tester
offers the model of a history of that which was "thinkable"
(p. 77) about animals in any given period. This draws fairly
heavily on the work of Foucault, and sees "history as the discontinuity
of the classifications which make us and our world" (p. 71).
Tester's concern is with the status of animals in different
eras of knowledge, which Foucault called epistemes .
Tester describes the shift from the "Classical" episteme
which encompassed both Enlightenment natural history and
the "unthinkable" cat massacre famously described by Darnton
(1985), to the modern episteme which allowed the emergence
of today's animal rights theory (which he persuasively contends
would itself have been unthinkable in an earlier time).
Tester's
is a study in historical sociology; it is important because
it remains the most sustained application of Foucault's ideas
to animal studies, but it is open to criticism on a number of
grounds. In an incisive sociological critique of the book, Benton
calls Tester's pretended non-commitment on the question of the
moral status of animals "just a posture," questions the consistency
of his reading of Foucault, and notes his questionable reliance
on dualistic thinking (Benton, 1992). I do not wish to rehearse
here my own criticisms of Tester (Baker, 1993, pp. 21-22, 212-17),
but in Picturing the Beast I tried briefly to indicate
how the work of continental theorists, Foucault and Derrida
in particular, could make a positive contribution to the exploration
of animal issues in a range of academic disciplines. Both these
theorists, as it happens, would want to insist on the scope
for using their work as a basis for constructing ethically
responsible positions, and not just--more fashionably--for "deconstructing"
them.
I must
also make brief reference here to a marvelous unpublished paper
by Wood, an authority on Derrida. Called "Comment ne pas Manger"
("How not to eat"), in response to Derrida's "Bien Manger" ("Eating
Well"), it is the only detailed analysis I am aware of that
shows just how useful deconstruction could be in the continuing
development of a responsible writing on animal issues. Its stated
intention was to persuade Derrida that his own critique of "carnophallogocentrism"
should itself lead him to adopt a vegetarian diet (Wood, 1993;
Derrida, 1991). Wood writes, following Derrida, of how deconstruction
envisages "a responsibility that exceeds all calculation."
It is the very opposite of the self-interested "spirit of calculation"
which mars the utilitarian theories which have sometimes been
invoked on behalf of animals. The question of "the other animal,"
writes Wood, is an exemplary case of our excessive, unlimited
responsibility, "because once we have seen through our self-serving
anthropocentric thinking about other animals, we are and should
be left wholly disarmed, ill-equipped to calculate our proper
response ."
The feminist
texts I am reviewing in this essay mark an advance on the positions
outlined by Tester, Wood and myself. Tester's work may well
have made a useful contribution to animal studies, but it is
important to understand that he sees contemporary animal advocacy
as nothing more than a curious social practice with which he
has no sympathy. His perspective could not be further from the
"animal rights viewpoint" which Stallwood calls for in the academy
(1994, p. 44). Both Wood and I make some moves in the direction
of such a viewpoint, but not as decisively as these feminist
texts. They appear consistently to follow the advice Haraway
gave a decade ago on how anthropocentrism might best be undermined:
"Destabilizing an origin story is perhaps more powerful in the
deconstruction of the history of man than replacing it with
a more progressive successor" (1986, p. 85).
Writing
off "Rights"
One of
the casualties of this deconstruction of the history of "man"
is the notion of rights . I have been surprised, in
reviewing these books, by the vehemence and unanimity with which
they dismiss the "rights" language of what until so very recently
we unself-consciously called the animal rights movement.
The change
has been swift and dramatic. As recently as 1989, Magel was
confidently able to write: "If a student interested in animal
rights were to ask what to study, my advice would be: first,
read all the works by Regan and Singer; then read all the responses
to their works; and then read whatever you wish" (Magel, 1989,
xiii). (The index to his bibliographic sourcebook, incidentally,
gives no clue that there was any feminist writing on animals
at that date.) The following year, of course, saw the publication
both of Adams' The Sexual Politics of Meat , which
broadly espoused the notion of animal rights, and of Donovan's
ground-breaking article "Animal Rights and Feminist Theory,"
which treated the term more cautiously.
Donovan's
was the first piece to draw the attention of many of us to an
important contradiction in the work of Regan and Singer: that
"in their reliance on theory that derives from the mechanistic
premises of Enlightenment epistemology (natural rights in the
case of Regan and utilitarian calculation in the case of Singer)"
and in their suppression of "emotional knowledge," they were
continuing to employ Cartesian attitudes "even while they condemn
the scientific practices enabled by them" (1990, p. 365). Donovan
did not doubt that both of these versions of what she collectively
termed "animal rights theory" reflected a "rationalist, masculinist
bias," and she called instead for the development of "an ethic
of animal treatment" which also drew on cultural feminism. It
is important to remember that in doing so she did not dismiss
animal rights theory out of hand: she called Regan's work "impressive,"
and Singer's "admirable and courageous" (1990, pp. 353, 355).
Donovan's
influence on the works reviewed here can hardly be overstated;
her article is cited approvingly by Adams, by Birke, and throughout
the Animals and Women collection. Adams sums up the
new position of the mid-1990s in her own preface: "My starting
point is not that of animal rights theory." She (p. 138) and
Birke (p. 135) both explain their dissatisfaction with the whole
idea of rights in terms of its association with the model of
liberal individualism which both feminism and postmodernism
have helped to discredit. This idea is explored further in important
essays by Vance, Luke, and Kappeler in Animals and Women
. These take an uncompromising (but arguably an ahistorical)
line on the question of rights: unlike Donovan, they offer little
acknowledgement of Singer's or Regan's importance in the 1970s
and 1980s, at a time when moral philosophy was widely seen as
the best tool available to argue the case for the ethical treatment
of animals.
Challenging
"Systems of Domination"
Rather
than enlarging the sphere of traditional moral concerns to encompass
animals as well as humans, thus promoting the idea that animals
too have "rights" (however loosely defined), the approach taken
in each of these three books is to insist that the oppression
of animals must be understood as symptomatic of a wider problem.
In Feminism, Animals and Science Birke writes that
"the injustices that humans perpetrate against animals are themselves
deeply embedded in the very same systems of domination that
lead to injustices against humans" (p. 134). Adams' book gives
much space to the idea of sexism, racism and the abuse of animals
as intersecting forms of violence, and she too uses
the phrase "interlocking systems of domination" (p. 79), which
she credits to the writer bell hooks. Kappeler's essay in Animals
and Women also describes "a formidable power pyramid,
a megapower system of interlocking forms of oppression and exploitation,
which requires our combined resistance if we really mean to
dismantle it," and she points to a significant consequence of
her analysis: "We must resist the embracing of single causes
and challenge an identity politics that makes each struggle
a single struggle and the responsibility of a particular `lobby'"
(p. 324).
Here
we see, perhaps more clearly than anywhere else, the distinctive
contribution of a feminist analysis. It seeks openly to politicize
philosophy, and in doing so it necessarily sweeps aside
what now appears as the bogus neutrality of the language of
rights. Feminism has politicized the theory of animal advocacy
(the practice was always politicized, of course), potentially
bringing theory and practice, or philosophy and activism, into
a closer and more productive relation. In saying this, however,
we must also remember that neither feminism nor postmodernism
would want to sustain too sharp a distinction between philosophy
and politics.
The analysis
does have its problems. The wholesale dismantling of worldwide
systems of domination, from a position of disadvantage, is a
lot to demand. Adams is clear about her unquestionably utopian
goal: a "radical resituating" of the players in the human/animal
dualism, in and through which "`animals' will lose their otherness,
and join human animals as a `we' rather than a `they' or a collective
of `its'" (p. 78).
I have
two reservations about this. The first is that, phrased in this
way, it sounds like an attempt to reduce both animals and humans
to a certain sameness, rather than a position from which one
could celebrate the difference of animals instead
of exploiting it. (The philosopher Irigaray has described the
recognition of an unbridgeable degree of difference between
individuals as a space for "wonder" (1993, p. 74), which strikes
me as a wholly positive basis for rethinking the relation of
animals and humans.) I think it is just a problem of Adams'
phrasing in this important instance, however; the passage goes
on more satisfactorily to argue for an acknowledgement of "the
particularities of our lives."
My second
reservation concerns the possibility, and I put it no more strongly
than this, that the problem of this systematic domination is
being overstated. As Cixous wrote over 20 years ago:
Everywhere
I see the battle for mastery that rages between classes, peoples,
etc., reproducing itself on an individual scale. Is the system
flawless? Impossible to bypass? On the basis of my desire,
I imagine that other desires like mine exist. If my desire
is possible, it means the system is already letting something
else through. (Cixous & Clément, 1986, p.
78)
Feminist
animal advocates, imagining other desires like their own, are
now also exploring tactics for disrupting this "battle for mastery."
In part,
it is a matter of working with, and modifying, the tools which
are already available. Adams' chapter on "Ecofeminism and the
eating of animals" is a good example. Rather than condemning
or dismissing ecofeminism on the grounds that "it fails to give
consistent conceptual space to the domination of animals as
a significant aspect of the domination of nature," she argues
for transforming it because she regards "ecofeminism's
theoretical potential" as being "clearly on the side of animals"
(pp. 87-88). This kind of methodological generosity and inventiveness
is exactly what is needed, I would suggest, for the advancement
of both animal advocacy and animal studies.
Another
tactic, strongly supported by Birke, and which for me is one
of the most exciting developments offered in these books, is
not of devising a single definitive non-oppressive history or
theory for animals, but of telling stories about them.
Telling
Stories in "French," in Animals' Voices
One of
the major contributions of postmodernism thus far has been to
challenge us to recognize that all human knowledge is essentially
narrative, just story in the making. We do not so much discover
the natural world as we construct it...We impose our cultural
and descriptive narratives on the world like templates, text
creating text. (Vance, 1995, pp. 165-66)
Without
ever neglecting or denying the pressing reality of animal suffering,
feminist writing on animals is rightly suspicious of anything
so crude (on either side of the argument) as a simplistic appeal
to "facts." Adams quotes another writer's proposal that feminist
consciousness "turns a `fact' into a `contradiction'" (p. 14).
Haraway proposes the sequence "facts are theory-laden; theories
are value-laden; values are story-laden" (1986, p. 79). Birke
argues against the notion of "rudimentary biological facts,"
and in favor of "open-ended possibility" in feminist theorizing
(p. 107). It is only in the dualistic thinking which each of
them challenges that facts must always be opposed
to fiction .
To those
working primarily in an empirical tradition in the social sciences,
this may sound like the wilder shores of postmodern excess.
It may be dismissed as being literally incomprehensible within
that tradition. Adams has a good metaphor for this kind of difficulty.
Comparing knowledge of the case for vegetarianism in a meat-eating
culture to knowledge of a second language, she writes: "When
former President Reagan (who did not know French) met François
Mitterand (who knew both English and French) what language do
you think they spoke? In the dominant culture, bilingual vegetarians
must always speak English" (p. 26). She suggests, however, that
they should insist on metaphorically using "French" in order
to expand knowledge and create change. Who knows what sense
"French" might make, or stories might make, if one could only
learn to write them?
It seems
in fact increasingly to be the case that writings on animal
studies which take either a feminist or a postmodern perspective
have intuitively recognized a gap within their "academic" language
which can only be filled by more poetic texts. In recent years
almost all of us have quoted from Walker's story "Am I Blue?"
and often also from Le Guin's collection Buffalo Gals ,
especially from the final story in which Eve unnames
the animals (Walker, 1988; Le Guin, 1990). It is almost as though
something in those stories touches us (if that's not too loose
a way of putting it), expressing something which academic discourses--even
feminist ones--have not usually managed to articulate.
Birke
is of course quite right to take the view that it's not only
the supporters of animal advocacy who tell stories. The grand
narratives of history and of science, which have so often served
to disadvantage animals, can themselves be understood as well-disguised
forms of story-telling. In her own telling phrase, it is only
"the mice" who "don't write the stories" (p. 138).
The second
half of Animals and Women has the general title "Alternative
Stories." It includes some very challenging writing which I
think, and which I hope, will help to shape the development
of animal studies over the next few years. In particular, the
essays by Luke and by Vance seem to offer new possibilities,
or at least new priorities, for how we might think, act and
write with regard to animals. Luke's detailed critique of what
he calls "patriarchal animal liberation" leads him movingly
to conclude that "our task is not to pass judgement on others'
rationality, but to speak honestly of the loneliness and isolation
of anthropocentric society" (p. 312). He is also the first writer
I am aware of to describe his activism as a creative
process: "animal liberation does not limit action through control
of self and others....It is creative, not restrictive" (p. 315).
This is a timely warning against animal advocacy's occasional
tendency to slip into a defensive and decidedly uncreative political
correctness.
Vance,
similarly, writes of the importance of understanding "ethical
behavior toward the nonhuman world" as "a kind of joyfulness,
an embracing of possibility" (p. 181). This celebratory emphasis
runs hand in hand with a theoretical rigor: "Just as theorizing
is a form of storytelling, so is storytelling a form of theorizing"
(p. 175). Her compelling and sophisticated exploration of animal
narratives acknowledges that any worthwhile knowledge of animals'
lives may "disappear as soon as I impose a narrative on them,"
and accepts the risk of ridicule when calling in all seriousness
for an imaginative mythmaking which acknowledges that "in dreams,
in fantasies, in visions, animals often speak to us" (pp. 165,
183).
Her more
general point, that "a good narrative should give voice to those
whose stories are being told," is imaginatively echoed in a
proliferation of metaphors throughout these "Alternative Stories."
Davis writes of "thinking like a chicken," Antonio of "reinventing
the wolf," and Luke of "going feral." What Luke refers to here
is the activist's experience of rejecting the comfortable domesticity
of anthropocentric culture so that he or she comes to occupy
"the position of feral animals, formerly domesticated but now
occupying a semiwild state on the boundaries of hierarchical
civilization" (p. 313).
I am
tempted to call this new story-laden, metaphor-laden style a
"wild" writing on animals. I have in mind here Vance's own use
of that adjective as part of the chain of associations with
which she characterizes a "wild" nature, praising "its wildness,
its disobedience, its rowdiness, its resistance to the domination
of men" (Vance, 1993, p. 141). Given Adams' insistence on metaphorically
speaking "French," we might also call this an écriture
animale . At present, Vance is probably its most innovative
writer. She knows that animal narratives can offer their own
indulgent, distinctly postmodern pleasures when the writing
is allowed to drift , like the frog she describes:
"The shiny brown frog drifted downstream a bit, basking in the
sun, looking, perhaps, for a tree that needed her. Nice work
if you can get it, I thought, better even than making theory"
(1995, p. 186).
This
kind of writing will certainly not satisfy those who expect
new work in animal advocacy to have an obvious relevance to
campaigning strategies, or new work in animal studies immediately
to contribute to the sum of knowledge on human/animal interactions.
These unfamiliar approaches should not be written off hastily,
however. They may turn out to provide animal studies with new
perspectives from which to understand the persistence of anthropocentric
priorities in contemporary society.
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