When Animals Speak. Eva Meijer
2010). The difference between humans and other animals is not a difference in degree, but a difference in kind (Calarco 2008, 22). Heidegger, however, stresses this lack is not a “less”; it is not hierarchical or teleological, it is a different mode of being (Derrida 2008, 156).
For Dasein, language is a way of being in the world and having access to that world. Humans are not only living beings who possess language; language is the “house of being in which the human being ek-sists by dwelling, in that he belongs to the truth of being, guarding it” (Heidegger [1947] 1993, 254). This movement works in two directions. Through language, Dasein has access to world and Being; language forms Dasein and is formed by it. Language is not just the expression of an organism, but the “clearing-concealing advent of Being itself” (ibid.), therefore it cannot be thought of in purely symbolic or signifying terms. Instead we should think of language “from its correspondence to being and indeed as this correspondence, that is, as the home of the human being’s essence” (1947, 254). Language is here once again seen as human language; other animals might communicate, but they do not have this relation of expressing the world and building the world through their utterances.8 The consequences of their perceived lack of language for their way of being in the world are far-reaching: they cannot understand themselves as beings in the world, they lack Mitsein, the capacity to be with others, and they even cannot die—they simply perish.
The abyss between humans and other animals has been challenged in different ways. The most straightforward seems to be to argue that other animals are similar to humans in significant ways, but this does not challenge the idea of the human norm being used as a standard, nor does it challenge the interpretation of language and reason linked to this image of the human. It also does not do justice to the many differences between various beings—between humans and other animals, between human groups, between individuals, and so on. In this context, Jacques Derrida (2008, 2009, 2011) questions the capacity of the human subject to understand the world as such. He argues that for Heidegger, as for his predecessors, the question of the animal is always intertwined with the question of what it means to think, and the animal is used to demarcate the human subject. He sees problems with this demarcation as being on different levels. First, the idea that “animals” constitute a single category obscures the large differences within this group. Second, Heidegger does not seriously envision Mitsein with other animals (2008, 158). Third, the structure Heidegger proposes is, according to Derrida, hierarchical, even though Heidegger claims it is not (Derrida 1991, 55–56). Finally, he questions whether or not human subjects are capable of seeing things as they truly are (Derrida 2008, 160), and he criticizes the existence of a universal “as-such” (Derrida 2008, 459). According to Derrida, to overcome these problems we need a radical reinterpretation of what is living, which calls for a new way of philosophizing.
While Heidegger’s views of animals and language may seem radical, non-human animals are still often seen as categorically different from humans and incapable of speaking, in both philosophy and society, and this is interconnected with different forms of epistemic and institutional violence. As mentioned above, animal advocates usually challenge the exclusion of non-human animals by arguing that they are like humans in morally significant respects. While this clearly questions who counts as a subject, and while awarding rights to non-human animals would have far-reaching social and political implications, this approach still takes the human norm as the standard by which the worth of other animals is measured, running the risk of repeating violence to those who are different and of reinforcing anthropocentrism. While many non-human animals share important characteristics with humans with regard to cognition, emotion, language, and culture, and while humans and other animals do form communities, differences remain. Furthermore, using the human norm as the starting point for defining reason and language or for moral consideration is not a neutral step, but is formed by power relations (chapter 4). As we have seen, language has often been defined as human language by excluding other animals, and this has had consequences for the ways in which they are studied and viewed. If we want to address anthropocentrism, we therefore also need to critically review the concept of language in relation to ideas of the human. A good starting point for this can be found in the work of Derrida (2008, 2009, 2011), which I will discuss in the next section.
The Animal, What a Word!
“Animal” and Animals
The starting point for modern animal ethics is often identified in the following words at the end of a footnote by philosopher Jeremy Bentham: “The question is not: can they speak, nor can they reason, but: can they suffer?” ([1823] 1907, 143–144). As a utilitarian, Bentham argued that sentience, and not reason, is what counts in our moral decisions, and he defended the idea that, in moral considerations, equal interests have equal value. The “number of one’s legs,” or the “villosity of one’s skin,” should not play a role in this. Philosopher Peter Singer’s Animal Liberation (1975) stems directly from Bentham’s utilitarian principles, and draws on this statement to argue that belonging to a certain species is not in itself morally relevant: discrimination on the basis of belonging to a certain species is speciesism. According to Singer, we should treat equal interests alike, including non-human animal interests. This view forms the foundation of most existing animal rights theories. Derrida (2008, 27) also turns to Bentham’s footnote, but he draws attention to the fact that Bentham argues not only for taking non-human animal interests into account morally, but also for the relevance of recognizing suffering. Derrida therefore sees Bentham’s footnote as a change in question, which he considers to be at the same time radical and based on common sense, because humans are affected by non-human animal suffering—the counterpoint to Descartes, who moved away from this common sense response to other animals.
Derrida regards this emphasis on suffering as a way to break out of the discourse on the animal through which logos is constructed. Bentham’s proposal to take suffering as the starting point in our moral relations with other animals has two sides. On the one hand, it refers to the actual suffering of actual animals, and not just of all creatures who fall into the general category of “animal”; it is an appeal to a feeling of compassion for fellow creatures, the possibility of suffering for them and with them. On the other hand, it moves the focus from whatever the animals can and cannot do or be—from their actions and powers—to their responses. According to Derrida, all doubts and questions that surround issues of logos, thought, and language disappear when we turn to the notion of suffering. “No one can deny the suffering, fear, or panic, the terror of fright that can seize certain animals and that we humans can witness” (2008, 28). Traditionally, the animal has not only been denied the right to speak, but also the opportunity to answer because of how language is delineated, and because language and reason are seen as powers one either does or does not possess. Taking the ability to suffer as the central notion reframes the question, and allows animals to answer. Suffering is, of course, not completely passive, and there is a contradiction in the question “can they suffer?,” because it is at once active (can) and passive (suffer). Humans are also affected, and they can suffer from the suffering of others.
It is important to note that there is no collective “animal” that suffers, acts, or responds. Non-human animals do not and cannot speak as one person with one voice—thinking this would yet again deprive them of a response. Language, and the word “animal,” deceives us. The word “animal” categorizes all non-human animals and distances humans from other animals (Derrida 2008, 31). Seeing all other animals as one group in contrast to humans reinforces anthropocentrism, which contributes to the legitimization of practices in which other animals are used for human benefit. Derrida argues that instead of one line between Man on the one side and Animal on the other, there is a multiple and heterogeneous border (2008, 31); beyond the edge of the “so-called human” (ibid.), we find a heterogeneous multiplicity of the living. To account for this multitude, he proposes to use the word “animot.” In speech it refers to the plural, the multiplicity of animals, which is necessary because there is no one “animal.” The “mot” in “animot” refers to the act of naming and the stakes involved in drawing a distinction between human and animal by the human. It reminds us of the fact that it is a word for animals, not a reference to an existing group of animals.
Acknowledging