The Deep Range - Arthur C. Clarke [82]
That was what Franklin had expected, but it was the first time he had obtained a definite statement. He felt a slight sense of disappointment; surely someone as intelligent as the Thero must realize that such a move was totally impracticable, since it would involve cutting off one eighth of the total food supply of the world. And for that matter, why stop at whales? What about cows, sheep, pigs—all the animals that man kept in luxury and then slaughtered at his convenience?
“I know what you are thinking,” said the Thero, before he could voice his objections. “We are fully aware of the problems involved and realize that it will be necessary to move slowly. But a start must be made somewhere, and the Bureau of Whales gives us the most dramatic presentation of our case.”
“Thank you,” answered Franklin dryly. “But is that altogether fair? What you’ve seen here happens in every slaughterhouse on the planet. The fact that the scale of operations is different hardly alters the case.”
“I quite agree. But we are practical men, not fanatics. We know perfectly well that alternative food sources will have to be found before the world’s meat supplies can be cut off.”
Franklin shook his head in vigorous disagreement.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but even if you could solve the supply problem, you’re not going to turn the entire population of the planet into vegetarians—unless you are anxious to encourage emigration to Mars and Venus. I’d shoot myself if I thought I could never eat a lamb chop or a well-done steak again. So your plans are bound to fail on two counts: human psychology and the sheer facts of food production.”
The Maha Thero looked a little hurt.
“My dear Director,” he said, “surely you don’t think we would overlook something as obvious as that? But let me finish putting our point of view before I explain how we propose to implement it. I’ll be interested in studying your reactions, because you represent the maximum—ah—consumer resistance we are likely to meet.”
“Very well,” smiled Franklin. “See if you can convert me out of my job.”
“Since the beginning of history,” said the Thero, “man has assumed that the other animals exist only for his benefit. He has wiped out whole species, sometimes through sheer greed, sometimes because they destroyed his crops or interfered with his other activities. I won’t deny that he often had justification, and frequently no alternative. But down the ages man has blackened his soul with his crimes against the animal kingdom—some of the very worst, incidentally, being in your particular profession, only sixty or seventy years ago. I’ve read of cases where harpooned whales died after hours of such frightful torment that not a scrap of their meat could be used—it was poisoned with the toxins produced by the animal’s death agonies.”
“Very exceptional,” interjected Franklin. “And anyway we’ve put a stop to that.”
“True, but it’s all part of the debt we have to discharge.”
“Svend Foyn wouldn’t have agreed with you. When he invented the explosive harpoon, back in the 1870’s, he made an entry in his diary thanking God for having done all the work.”
“An interesting point of view,” answered the Thero dryly. “I wish I’d had a chance of arguing it with him. You know, there is a simple test which divides the human race into two classes. If a man is walking along the street and sees a beetle crawling just where he is going to place his foot—well, he can break his stride and miss it or he can crush it into pulp. Which would you do, Mr. Franklin?”
“It would depend on the beetle. If I knew it was poisonous, or a pest, I’d kill it Otherwise I’d let it go. That, surely, is what any reasonable man would do.”
“Then we are not reasonable. We believe that killing is only justified to save the life of a higher creature—and it is surprising how seldom that situation arises. But let me get back to my argument; we seem to have lost our