Lately the subject of death, and how much it sucks, has been very prevalent in my thoughts. Not from any particular personal fear of it, but just sort of anger about the fact that so many things are subject to it, every single day. It's not a new sentiment -- I've always despised killing things unnecessarily. I remember moving a wounded grasshopper off the sidewalk back in fourth grade so nobody would step on it, and I remember when the neighbor across the street shot a blackbird with his BB gun when I was something like 13, and I stayed with it and cared for it for an hour or two until it died, and then I left it on his doorstep so he could not avoid the result of his actions.

So while this attitude is nothing new, this recent pondering of the subject was triggered by things in two books I've read recently. The first was in Calculating God by Robert J. Sawyer. I don't have the book handy, so I can't provide an exact quote, but the book is about an octopedal alien named Hollus who arrives on Earth to speak with a palentologist about our anthropological history, and in exchange provides some details about the history of his own planet. At one point, the alien, whose name for its own species is "forhilnor," shows the human researchers a holographic rendition of what they believe the alien's planet was like millions of years ago. The recreation is described from the point of view of the protagonist, a Canadian palentologist, who recounts:

I watched a midsized pentaped attacking a slightly smaller octoped. The blood was every bit as red as terrestrial blood, and the cries of the dying creature, although two toned, coming in alternating anguish from separate mouths, sounded just as terrified.

Not wanting to die was another universal constant, it seemed.

I read this a few weeks ago and it gave me pause, reminding me that animals are just as afraid of death as humans are, and it is just as... I hate to use this cliche'd word, but tragic. We like to assume that animals are dumb and have no feelings (it's much easier that way), but I give them more credit than that. Anyone who has built a relationship with a pet knows that is not the case.

I just can't understand how blasé and casual some people can be about killing something, especially another person. A person has spent their entire life building relationships, learning things, acquiring experiences and wisdom; building something remarkable, piece by piece, assembling a unique personality. And the thought of snuffing that out irretrievably distresses me.

It's not just with humans that this bothers me, though. While the experiences and wisdom are doubtless much more rudimentary, I have no doubt that animals develop friendships and have reasons why they very much don't want to die. It's not just some innate, inexplicable survival instinct -- just like us, they have a real desire to remain alive. And the second passage, which I read yesterday in Chasm City by Alastair Reynolds, reminded me of that:

I watched him shiver. And then something moved on the other side of the room, in a dark alcove situated in one of the white walls. Whatever it was moved slowly and silently, but the man was aware of its presence, and now his shouts became shrieks, like the squealing of a pig being slaughtered.

While the passage is a fictional account of someone disliked by a crime lord being disposed of through animal means, that last simile reminded me that every day in real life, thousands (millions? I don't know) of cows, pigs, etc. are routinely slaughtered for our purposes, without a second thought. Bored slaughterhouse workers glance at the clock, while the event holds far more significance to the pig. And that's just not fair.

But I fully realize that we are not the only ones that kill other creatures. That is how nature works. And it pisses me off that nature (Evolution? God? Up to you) has selected a system in which millions of creatures have to have their lives painfully ended every day in order for the process to continue. Darwin wrote on this very subject:

We will now discuss in a little more detail the struggle for existence. [...] All organic beings are exposed to severe competition. [...] Nothing is easier than to admit in words the truth of the universal struggle for life, or more difficult [...] than constantly to bear this conclusion in mind. Yet unless it be thoroughly engrained in the mind, the whole economy of nature [...] will be dimly seen or quite misunderstood. We behold the face of nature bright with gladness; [...] we do not see or we forget, that the birds which are idly singing round us mostly live on insects or seeds, and are thus constantly destroying life; or we forget how largely these songsters, or their eggs, or their nestlings, are destroyed by birds and beasts of prey...

-- Charles Darwin, "Origin Of The Species"

Some might argue against vegetarianism by pointing to the way that nature does it, and asking why we should be any different. But I don't feel that nature's method is necessarily beyond criticism. Neither do I accept the argument that it's what the Bible says. It's particularly convenient, isn't it, that a document put to paper by humans declares that all other animals on Earth are there for the express purpose of serving humans, and can thus be killed without remorse? Human life is sacred, but the life of our closest relative - who shares 99.6% of our DNA - can be ended at will. Awesome. By sheer coincidence, that happens to work out perfectly for us. (Reminds me of Eddie Izzard's joke: ...such as the pilgrims, who set off from Plymouth and landed -- in Plymouth. How coincidental is that? 'Is this Plymouth? We've just come from Plymouth! Get back on the boat, we've gone round in circles.')

So, with all this yelling and shouting about death, why am I not a vegetarian? Essentially, it's pure hypocrisy, and it's something that bothers me daily. I have an incredible facility in ignoring the small voice in my head reminding me of my personal beliefs and convictions, with spectacular results (nearly failing out of college being my most impressive). That, and a general lack of discipline on my part. I can't even manage to regularly eat healthily, something whose results offer significantly more incentive. Finally, combine those two factors with the general feeling of insignificance in the face of such a large system - I'd never order lobster at a restaurant, for example, because I'd never ask that any creature, ugly as it may be, be dropped into boiling hot water to be cooked alive to satisfy my whims. But it's so much more difficult in the case of ordering fast food, where everything there has already been killed, and my not eating one chicken meximelt will not directly save any chickens' lives. Obviously, you can argue that by removing one consumer from the meat-eating population, over time it will slightly reduce demand and thus result in fewer animals being slaughtered in the future, and it's a very valid argument, but the fact that it's an indirect effect only logically appreciable makes it much more difficult to overcome the two aforementioned factors. But it's not a satisfactory situation, and it's something I want to change.

UPDATE (8/29/2004): Included the accurate quote from Calculating God.