Reason, Language, and Justice: Porphyry on Vegetarianism
Below, you will find an essay I wrote during my first semester at SLU as part of my course in medieval philosophy. Presumed lost for over two years, I just discovered the sole remaining copy I printed as a rough draft for editorial purposes. The history of veganism is, upon careful analysis, far richer, more vibrant, and diverse than we might often assume, stretching over 1,500 years back to the time of Pythagoras, Porphyry, and their followers. This essay explores just one 40-page chunk of Porphyry’s treatise, On Abstinence from Animal Foods.
Most famous for his Isagoge and Against the Christians, Porphyry also penned On Abstinence from Animal Foods, arguably the most complete articulation of vegetarianism since Pythagoras. Though rarely discussed by contemporary philosophers, On Abstinence from Animal Foods remains one of the most complete treatments of vegetarianism from late antiquity through the Middle Ages, representing no less than a watershed moment in the history of vegetarianism. This work, divided into no fewer than four books, both reiterates and builds on many Pythagorean objections to the consumption of animal flesh, arguing that tyrannizing animals is intemperate, unjust, and even unphilosophical. While the other three books explore everything from immorality of animal sacrifice to the vegetarianism of cultures around the world, we will focus on the third book, which examines vegetarianism from the perspective of reason, language, and justice. Equipped with Porphyry's account of vegetarianism, we will then examine potential deficits that derive from this account, from speciesist language to various quandaries in philosophy of mind.
Porphyry begins Book III with a recapitulation of several ideas, concepts, and arguments central to his view, restating his former conclusions that “animal food does not contribute either to temperance and frugality, or to the piety which especially gives completion to the theoretic life” (81). His account of vegetarianism thus appeals to the Aristotelian virtue of temperance, whereby we curb our intemperate desires for the destruction of animal lives and the consumption of their dead bodies. As we shall see, Porphyry later introduces a more robust account of temperance and its relationship to a vegetarian lifestyle. In his dissent against what we shall dub “carnism,” the ideology that permits, justifies, and even glorifies the use, abuse, and exploitation of our nonhuman animal compatriots, Porphyry also appeals to piety, which he believes is best obtained through abstinence (81). Porphyry even argues that so long as we remain pious toward the Gods, we act unjustly toward neither human beings nor nonhuman animals (81).
Armed with these preliminary remarks, Porphyry ventures into his third major argument against the consumption of animal flesh. Whereas many of Porphyry's carnistic critics contend that justice can only be afforded to members of like species and that “irrational” animals cannot, on this basis, be meaningfully injured by human action, Porphyry embraces the “Pythagoric opinion” that “every soul which participates of sense and memory is rational” (81). Once we demonstrate the rationality of nonhuman animals, Porphyry argues that it necessarily follows that we can extend justice to the rest of animalkind (81). A great number of animals who are traditionally considered irrational by the standards of “human” rationality are thus afforded rationality on Porphyry's account, which he defends through his discussion of language, to which we turn next.
According to Porphyry, there exist two kinds of rationality: one internal and another external (81). Internal rationality refers to the process by which we deliberate in deference to the laws of logic, while external rationality refers to the act of speech through which we communicate the machinations of the rational mind. As Porphyry stipulates, the committed carnist must demonstrate which of these two rationalities animals are deprived of—are animals deprived of “right reason” alone, or are they deprived of both internal and external rationality? (81). Following this question, Porphyry remarks that most carnistic critics deny utterly the presence of rationality in animals (82). Porphyry repudiates this denial, arguing that since internal thoughts precede verbal utterances, any animal with a voice must possess rationality (82). While this argument may seem deficient on the grounds that an injured dog might whimper in pain and not as the result of some abstract syllogistic process, we must remember that Porphyry embraces a much broader conception of rationality than his carnistic critics, a conception that includes the senses. A dog who whimpers is thus rational to the extent that he whimpers in response to an internal mental state, which is itself rational in virtue of its sense perception.
Though this view leads to several difficulties we will examine later in this essay, from the problem of other minds to D. J. Chalmers "hard problem of consciousness," Porphyry proceeds to bolster his case by arguing that nonhuman animals are “inwardly affected” prior their enunciation of these inward affections. These inward affections proceed by manner of “discursive perceptions"—that is, “perception produced by the silent discourse which takes places in the soul”—to verbal articulations thereof (82). Since articulations thus descend from an inner mental state that is, itself, a byproduct of the properties of sense and memory, all verbal articulations that express such inward perceptions are rational (Porphyry 82). But what if we cannot understand these vocalizations? As Porphyry argues, our inability to comprehend the vocalizations of nonhuman animals in no way negates the presence of rationality in nonhuman animals; after all, human beings who speak a language with which we have no proficiency can sound just as foreign and unintelligible as a prairie dog who barks to fellow prairie dogs (Porphyry 82). Yet we would not deny the rationality of these human populations solely on the basis that we cannot comprehend their speech. Thus, neither can we deny the nonhuman animal rationality on the basis our own incomprehension of their speech.
Despite the relative unintelligibility of nonhuman animal speech, Porphyry proceeds next to demonstrate nonhuman animals' facility with language, a language even we, to a limited extent, can comprehend. As Porphyry argues, nonhuman animals not only use a language that is specifically adapted to their kind, but this language also accommodates significant nuances in “variety and difference” (83). This linguistic variability thus speciates different animal vocalizations; a loud cry might indicate terror, a light murmur friendliness, and a menacing hiss hostility. The context in which such vocalizations are uttered, as well as the behavior we observe in such contexts, can inform our perception of the nature and meaning of these vocalizations. Even so, the languages articulated by nonhuman animals are “not easily apprehended by man.” Yet nonhuman animals can communicate with each other with great facility, as these sounds are “manifest” and “significant” to them, even though we struggle to comprehend the meaning of this speech. Nonhuman animals can even imitate human speech to the extent that parrots, for example, repeat human phrases and to the extent that they understand human speech, as when a rat responds to her name or when a dog follows a command uttered in the human language (Porphyry 84). Porphyry thus concludes it is absurd to deny that nonhuman animals “participate of reason” (86).
At this juncture, Porphyry strives to resolve a core deficit in his argument. Even though he demonstrated above that nonhuman animals engage in the external act of speech and to this extent appear to participate of reason, Porphyry still needs to demonstrate that nonhuman animals possess internal reason. This need derives from a notable elision above, whereby Porphyry implies the veracity of the following principle: if a sentient being S produces a vocalization X, then X descends from reason. Taken logically, however, this conditional is false in the case the antecedent is true and the consequent false, that is, in the case that a sentient being produces a vocalization, yet this vocalization does not descend from reason. The burden of proof thus falls on Porphyry to defend this principle, without which his argument suffers from a serious, possibly insurmountable defect.
Porphyry mounts a defense of the internal reason of animals (and thus, the rationality supposedly belied by their vocalizations) as follows: take any sentient being. For the sake of argument, let us assume that this sentient being is a cat with whom we live. Let us also assume, in Aristotelian fashion, that the difference between our reason and her reason resides not in essence, but in degree, such that we possess a greater degree of reason than she does (Porphyry 86). Despite this difference in reasoning ability, we must nevertheless concede that, according to "the sensoria and the flesh,” animals are “similarly disposed” to us (Porphyry 87). Porphyry next describes a series of “calamities” by which the flesh can be affected, only to conclude that “the bodies of all animals are similarly affected with ours” (87). He does admit, however, that animals can differ from us on account of their "habit of body," which seems to refer as much to their bodily form as their habitudes (87). Even so, Porphyry notes that we are no more justified in denying that animals are irrational on account of their differences than we are in concluding that other human beings are irrational on account of their differing cultures (87).
Having established the bodily similarity between both nonhumans and humans and denied the moral relevance of differences in “habit of body,” Porphyry considers next the sensory attributes of nonhuman animals. As Porphyry writes, “it is not the province of man alone to apprehend juices by their taste, colors by their sight, odors by their smell, sounds by the hearing, cold or heat, or other tangible objects, by the touch,” as “brutes are capable of the same perceptions” (88). Porphyry also rejects the speciesist claim that, since nonhumans animals are not human beings, nonhuman animals categorically lack reason; as Porphyry argues, the foregoing reasoning would be no better than if we claimed that, since human beings lack the rationality of the Gods, human beings categorically lack reason (88). Once more, Porphyry affirms both the presence of rationality in nonhuman animals while simultaneously admitting to gradations of rationality. Although Porphyry assigns higher rationality to most human beings (not all, as we shall see), he nevertheless concedes that some nonhuman animals possess senses that, in their acuity, far surpass those possessed by the average human being, “for what man can see more acutely than a [hawk]?” (88). He also endorses Aristotelian "perfectionism" insofar as he grants that the more "exquisite” a sense, the more prudent the animal (88). As Porphyry concludes, “it must be granted, therefore, that animals participate more or less of reason, but not that they are perfectly deprived of it; as neither must it be admitted that one animal has reason, but another not” (88). After considering the issue of intelligence, Porphyry likewise concludes that "it does not follow, if we have more intelligence than other animals, that on this account they are to be deprived of intelligence; as neither must it be said that partridges do not fly, because hawks fly higher" (88-89).
Despite the compelling conclusions quoted above, Porphyry writes that we must nevertheless still demonstrate the presence of a “rational power in animals, and that they are not deprived of prudence" (89). Although Porphyry previously identified rationality with the possession of memory and sense perception, here he introduces a new criterion for rationality: prudence. Whether this new criterion for rationality is a necessary condition on Porphyry's view is debatable. Since he defended gradations of rationality earlier in this treatise, it is possible that a sentient being who possesses both sense perception and memory, but not prudence, could still be rational, though to a lesser extent than an individual who possesses all three attributes. Treating prudence as a necessary condition for the possession of rationality, however, could appeal to Porphyry, as it produces a form of rationality that is more relatable and less foreign to the vast majority of human beings than a rationality composed of sense perception and memory alone. Prudence, once treated as a necessary condition for the possession of rationality, can also generate a more complicated, nuanced action theory, as actions would assume a much greater level of order and meaning were they to proceed from a prudent rationality rather than a rationality devoid of prudence.
Having explored Porphyry's possible motivations for stipulating prudence as a vital characteristic of rationality, we can now examine the arguments he offers in favor of nonhuman animal prudence, beginning with his observation that many nonhuman animals grasp their strengths or weaknesses against a given opponent. As Porphyry writes, “each [nonhuman animal] knows whether it is imbecile or strong, and, in consequence of this, it defends some parts of itself, but attacks with others” (89). On Porphyry's view, nonhuman animals also know “every thing which contributes to their advantage” (89). Even though these qualities—sense perception, memory, and prudence chief among them—are present in animals, Porphyry rejects the claim that animals are, by nature, rational (Porphyry 89). Instead, Porphyry insists that nonhuman animals learn through discipline; as Porphyry summarizes, nonhuman animals "learn some things from each other, but are taught others, as we have said, by men” (90). While his claim that specifically nonhuman animals learn via discipline may imply an intransigent speciesism, Porphyry does specify that both nonhuman and human animals learn via discipline. Since both lack the perfect rationality of the Gods, it follows, on Porphyry's view, that both nonhuman and human animals have the capacity to learn via discipline. Since learning via discipline motivated his denial that nonhuman animals are rational in the first place, it follows, by conjunction, that neither are human animals rational by nature. We should therefore refrain from accusing of Porphyry of speciesism in this particular instance, though other instances of speciesism, even his resolutely anti-carnistic text (and indeed, even our current essay), abound.
Porphyry's discussion of prudence becomes even more intriguing, as it leads naturally to his discussion of nonhuman animals and their possession of other virtues and vices, a novel move given human philosophy's long tradition of excluding nonhuman animals from the domain of rational beings; disparagement of our fellow nonhuman creatures as imbecilic, unimportant, and worthy of subjugation; and the often staggering anthropocentrism that results from such exclusive, disparaging tactics, intentional or otherwise. But just before he examines these virtues and vices, Porphyry interjects that nonhuman animals do indeed possess memory, which he declares “a most principal thing in the resumption of reasoning and prudence” (90). Memory thus not only enables nonhuman animals to learn via discipline, but also provides the foundation from which all reasoning and prudence can flow. In seemingly anti-speciesist fashion, Porphyry then argues that while nonhuman animals may possess vices such as envy, “their bad qualities are not so widely extended as in men: for their vices are of a lighter nature than those of men” (90). He cites sexuality as one of the clearest examples where this is so; while “nearly all men, when they are intoxicated, can beget children,” nonhuman animals “propagate for the sake of offspring,” not necessarily for pleasure (90).
Ignoring the potentially speciesist implication that animals cannot pursue sex for the sake of carnal pleasure, as well as Porphyry's more antiquarian views on the function of sexuality, we turn next to his discussion of justice. From ringdoves who remain chaste to their respective partners to “gregarious animals” who build entire colonies together, Porphyry argues that nonhuman animals preserve justice toward each other (90-91). Though Porphyry maintains that certain species are “naturally adapted” to possess certain virtues, he denies that we can conclude, on this basis, that these nonhuman animals are irrational; as Porphyry writes, “if we do not understand how these acts are effected, because we are unable to penetrate into the reasoning which they use, we are not on this account to accuse them of irrationality" (91). Nor should we act unjustly toward our fellow creature simply because their reason is “imperfect” (Porphyry 95). On Porphyry's view, human beings are obligated to behave justly toward the rest of animalkind, such that violently killing nonhuman animals for the sake of pleasure becomes “perfectly savage and unjust" (95). For all the force of this anti-carnistic indictment, however, Porphyry still accepts various forms of animal use, from oxen laboring in the field to mother cows being milked, drawing the ire of modern-day vegans who reject such practices (96).
Having thus outlined Porphyry's arguments for the rationality of nonhuman animals and the need for a more just ethic that encompasses both human and nonhuman animals, several problems arise. Perhaps most troubling of all is the problem of other minds. While Porphyry has argued extensively for the presence of nonhuman animal rationality, Porphyry must still overcome the threat solipsism poses to his view. This threat grows even graver in the case of nonhuman animals, as not only are they biologically distant from us, but also, to a large degree, linguistically unintelligible. Decoding the meaning of nonhuman animal who not only differs from us in numerous ways, from the acuity of their senses to their bodily composition and habitudes, becomes exponentially more difficult than in the case of human beings, with whom we can often converse in the same, mutually understood language. Even if we could somehow abstract the meaning from nonhuman animal utterances, the following problem would still remain: proving that the other even exists as something other than a mere figment of our imagination.
Though modern philosophers typically reject solipsism, other problems still remain, such as the question of sentience. Similar to the foregoing concern, it can be remarkably difficult to descry the internal machinations of animals, let alone determine precisely which animals are indeed sentient. Let's assume that cows, chickens, and pigs are sentient. Are lobsters sentient? How about ants? Even after thousands of studies that attempt to understand the nature, existence, and phenomenon of consciousness, the best neurophysicists, neurochemists, and neuroanatomists still cannot determine whether such animals are sentient to a reasonable degree of scientific certitude. Indeed, there may be neurological substrates for sentience that entirely evade even our present understanding of this phenomenon. Since we cannot strictly prove the existence of sentience of all animals, especially those who, like butterflies, possess a brain the size of a pinprick, it becomes exceptionally difficult to know which animals behave as automatons and which animals behave in genuinely rational ways. Hence, it is not clear whether Porphyry truly established the existence of nonhuman animal rationality, especially for marginal cases, which insects doubtlessly pose, at least for the hardcore, Cartesian skeptic.
Through this horrible thicket, we should nevertheless heed Howard Williams' words from his 1883 book, The Ethics of Diet: “it will be observed, perhaps with some surprise, that the advocate of the higher and humane life refutes the same sorts of sophistry, and exposes much the same sorts of subterfuge, as those which obtain at this day, and which are constantly repeated now as then.” Porphyry's treatise, On Abstinence from Animal Foods, remains as relevant as ever, shedding light on a deeply controversial issue—namely, the sentience and moral worth of other creatures, alongside our ethical calling to treat our nonhuman animal compatriots in a manner consonant with the demands of justice.
