Does Our Autonomy Make Us Human?

We talk a lot about autonomy and human rights, what does it mean?

Seraph the owl

Here is an owl. I will call her Seraph Owl because I like angels and history. Or rather, I think animals are angels that make our earth life possible. And, history is something from which we can learn.

Seraph has no human rights. She may have her forest removed by Weyerhauser any time they like. She may burn up, or lose her babies during a now predictably long fire season. Seraph creates the forest, and is embedded in systems that protect and plant seedlings, retain water, make soil, and feed a food web.

By all accounts, Seraph is a good girl.

But, again. Seraph has no real autonomy to make important choices about her life and its continuation beyond, maybe: Ooh, should I eat that mouse?

I object to objectification

This is where the idea of autonomy gets to me. When we take away another person’s autonomy, we dehumanize them. We make them an object. In the case of taking away a mother’s right to choose, and giving her instead a red bonnet and cape, or a commander, or — shudder — a Texas ruling, we make her an object to do the bidding of the state. She is a vessel, not a person.

She, like Seraph, or Seraph’s forest, is simply another resource.

The idea of autonomy, then, is about humanity.

Humanity, on the other claw, is not all about inclusion, at least when it comes to the supportive biosphere that makes us.

We agree (or we get close to it) that human beings need human rights.

We disagree passionately about which human beings. Although collectively, it seems some crimes are rewarded with golf course graves and resorts, while some crimes get you killed by the people you pay to protect and serve you.

It’s messed up.

Howls and owls

During the heatwave, here in the Pacific Northwest, we saw an owl sitting in the center of the hot road. As we pulled closer, he/she lifted off into the scrubby side of the street.

It was wonderful to see an owl. Maybe.

But I do not know how much they’re suffering in times like this. Are they better equipped, being off-line and living in the sensual world?

Or are they in huge trouble because they don’t have access to air conditioning, cool water, or the prey that used to have green grass? They can’t go to Costco or wait for rabbits from overnight Amazon delivery, after all.

I tend to think it’s the latter, and this breaks my heart and messes with my sense of personal autonomy.

That is, since free will itself is up for debate, and as a species, we lean more toward letting those with the most aggressive tactics rule, what even is autonomy?
We took away the right to walk around the woods, lakes, and rivers unless we own 10,000 acres. We don’t take that autonomy away from birds because they are too smart to read your stupid “keep out” signs.

During last year’s drought, seeing the cedar trees slowly brown, singe, and curl, crumpled my heart; from evergreen hope and dignity to crispy kindling.

This leaves me wondering, what do you think autonomy is? Does life without autonomy indicate that we are non-human? Should we have more, or less, autonomy when it comes to the rest of the creation?

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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