It is often asserted that animals as a body have no “rights,” properly so called, that must be taken into consideration in our dealings with them. Such a dictum, as it is often understood, I would combat with every means in my power. But here there must be a clear understanding of what we mean by the word “rights.” It cannot, I think, be better expressed than in the following lines, written by a member of that body who has been unjustly accused of not giving its support to the protection of animals from cruel and unfair treatment: “It is true that they [animals] have not human rights; but as there is in them a nature demanding a treatment quite above that accorded to wood or iron, plants and shrubs (as St. Francis says), so it is reasonable to claim for them rights—animal rights.”
And what are the “animal rights” that the dog, as a fellow citizen of the animal world, can claim at our hands? Not the cramping restrictions of excessive and foolish fondness, but a temperate and, above all, humane appreciation of the fact that his span of life is given him from the same source as our own. Whence it comes and whither it goes are questions that all the science of the world, so far, can do no more than speculate upon. As Christians, the faith that is in us is not shaken by the difficulties that confront us, when we think of the beginning and end of our life on the earth; but we know that the gift of life carries with it grave responsibilities and duties, for the due performance of which we are each personally accountable. But our duties and responsibilities towards our fellow men do not limit the ties that bind us. The same laws that govern our intercourse with our fellows govern also, in their degree, our relations with the animal world.
The dog, who is brought nearer to us in the intimate relations of our home than any other animal except the cat, suffers most from any failure of duty on our part. For the ordering of his whole life from puppyhood to old age, and from dawn to dark of each day as it comes, is subject to the influence we bring to bear on it. If we fail to bring an intelligent comprehension of his wants and of his powers of mind and body to act on the surroundings we give him, we lessen his joy in life, or bring untold suffering upon him, in proportion to our own failure in our duties towards him.
What, then, can be said of those who bring wanton cruelty to bear on the sensitive body and delicate mental organisation that make him a trusted friend and companion of the human race? The dog-fights, of which I have spoken in an earlier part of the book, are now happily objects of horror and disgust to all but the hopelessly brutal minded. But much, I fear, still remains to be done in bringing the force of the law to bear on those who offend in secret, and with but a partial recognition of the enormities they perpetrate.
Of the far worse horrors of vivisection I am not happily here called on to deal, with more than a passing notice. Whatever science may have to say to excuse them, the scenes of the vivisecting room are too dark and horror-striking to be reproduced for general reading. We know that some eminent members of the medical profession have pronounced against their value to the spread of scientific knowledge. We may hope, then, that such pronouncement of undoubted authorities may have due and speedy effect in the general recognition of dogs and other animals to the right to be spared all unnecessary suffering.
The highest claim a dog possesses to the full recognition of his rights—animal rights—to consideration at our hands, is, from my point of view at least, his possession of the dawning of a moral sense. Such a power of discrimination between right and wrong, and the consequent results of a feeling of satisfaction and elation, or of shame and regret, as he gives way to behaviour that contravenes his sense of moral rectitude, or in spite of temptation refuses to listen to the suggestion of passion or appetite, is, or so it appears to me, proved abundantly by a sympathetic study of the dog’s actions. A striking instance of such conscious choice was shown by the little Bosky[12] when she first fell from the paths of honesty in the presence of a tempting dainty, then fled from the scene of her lapse from virtue and from her beloved mistress’s presence; and still more when she refused to allow herself to be put in the way of temptation a second time. The Skye[13] showed unmistakable shame and sorrow when he brought to light the kitten’s dead body. The fox-terrier pups[14] in their Indian home had an appreciation more or less clear of their infant enormities in the matter of destroying their guardian’s property, and every dog-lover from his own experience can recall some instance of the same nature.
We have seen that in the primitive tribal conditions of the dog’s ancestors, the sympathy, that is the foundation on which all community life rests, must have been present in those members of the old-world packs, or the very existence of the tribes, as such, would have been imperilled. Sympathy with their fellows gave to each member of the tribe an appreciation of the needs of his fellow members as well as of his own. Such needs must be respected and cared for, and in the simple give and take of the rough life of the wandering packs, we find, I think, the first faint foreshadowing of the moral sense that reaches its highest expression in the animal world, in our dog friend as he is to-day. In saying this I do not for a moment claim for our dog more than the very simplest ideas of duty, as they appear to him in his relations to his owner and to his fellow dogs, or other animals, for of the conception of ethics in the abstract he is clearly incapable. To make such a claim for him would be to place him on our own level in the possession of mental and moral gifts.
The simplest expression of the knowledge of right and wrong presupposes no inconsiderable power of memory and of reflection. Of both these I believe the dog to show himself capable. If he is not, no faintest adumbration of the moral sense can be his. For before any ethical appreciation can be shown there must be not merely the memory of a past event, but a power of reflection on the many converging lines of presentment to his mind, not only as these affect some person or thing outside himself, but as they impress his own consciousness. Such an effort of mind, aided by his affections and other powers that may be brought into play by the circumstances of the case, give to the dog the sense of right or wrong-doing that he displays in his consequent actions. In such simple manifestations of the moral sense, shame and the fear of detection, or on the other hand self-gratulation and elation, may be expected to play their part, though without obscuring the true ethical consciousness that lies at the root of the expression of feeling. As the dog’s mind knows no higher form of devotion than that excited by his faulty owner, why should we quarrel with the crude evidences of a moral feeling our presence excites in him? Before we played the part of deity to him, he recognised his duties to his fellows, and in his own manner and degree lived up to the responsibilities the circumstances of his life demanded. The fuller blossoming of the possibilities of life for him came with the companionship of man, and with us it lies to bring these to a full fruition, or to starve them into a premature blight.
From the earliest times men who have taken a view of their responsibilities that is not limited to their own kind, have lifted their voice with no uncertain sound to plead with their fellow men for a more humane regard for animal life. In the dangerous exhibitions of the Roman Circus it was men who risked their lives for the passing gratification of their fellows. These games were followed in a later age by the bull fights that still linger to the disgrace of the civilised nations who enjoy them. In the old times St. Augustine, St. Chrysostom, and others were eloquent in their denunciation of the gladiatorial combats, and soon after the middle of the sixteenth century Pope Pius V forbade the faithful in any land to take part in or attend the bull baiting that was then a favourite form of amusement. The Pope declared such exhibitions to be “contrary to Christian duty and charity,” and if any in defiance of his command should lose their lives in contending with “bulls or other beasts,” they were to be “deprived of Christian burial.”
We may be thankful that in later times such teaching has been given by the authorities of the Church in England, in America, and in every Christian country in the world. Among the Catholic dignitaries, who in our own country have taken a leading part in inculcating a due respect for animal rights, Cardinal Manning came prominently forward. In one of his many addresses on the subject, he says:—