The Vegan Street Blog

Perfect By Design

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The other day, we were on our way back from somewhere and John noticed a school bus. He observed how school buses have not changed significantly since he was a school child. I didn’t know where he was going with this so I just kind of listened to his observations about other objects that have not gone through major overhauls. He looked up at a jet plane overhead as we continued on our way home and he continued on his little tangent. “Commercial airplanes haven’t changed much since they first started being used, either. I mean, little changes here and there to boost comfort and ease of use but the basics of an airplane are still pretty much intact from the 1940s.” From there, we talked about hammers: While adaptations may have been made to the grip to make it more comfortable in the hand, the simple utility of the overall design remains fundamentally unchanged. While the original hammer was cruder, form and function met at the beginning; whether you buy a $10.00 basic model or a $230 elite one, all hammers basically are asked to perform the same tasks well.  Beyond the functionality, the rest is just refinement and window dressing.

Or think of a bowl: The idea is to hold something that might flow out of a more flat surface. Bowls have been made out of all kinds of materials, from glass and metal to stone and shell. Some are small, some are large, some have deeper wells, but the function of the bowl still is to prevent what is contained within it from spilling out. No matter how sophisticated we become, no matter how fancy or simple it is, a bowl must still work as a bowl and it found its expression early on when the need for such a specific dish was noticed.

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This, of course, got me thinking about veganism and its original definition. While veganism is not an object, I naturally began to see parallels. The original definition of veganism, hewn by the Vegan Society in 1944, was this: “Veganism is a philosophy and way of living which seeks to exclude—as far as is possible and practicable—all forms of exploitation of, and cruelty to, animals for food, clothing or any other purpose; and by extension, promotes the development and use of animal-free alternatives for the benefit of animals, humans and the environment. In dietary terms it denotes the practice of dispensing with all products derived wholly or partly from animals.”

It is a deceptively simple, deeply practical definition, one that acknowledges the basis of ethics but also the imperfection of our lived reality, one that is historically predicated on the use and harm of other species. It is not a grand, high-minded statement of values and convictions; it serves its function as a coherent, rational definition of something novel and complex with an impressive economy of words. Imagine trying to describe this way of life in 1944 to a world that wasn’t even largely familiar with vegetarianism, and, as you’re doing that, needing to nod to the fact that pure veganism is impossible given our flawed world, oh, and while we’re at it, still give it the substance it deserved. A tall order and one I think they met admirably.

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Like the hammer and the bowl, in my opinion, the definition of veganism is as close to its perfect and most encompassing expression as could be realistically expected. This doesn’t stop people from trying to add a few extras. Despite the pretty straightforward definition, some vegans will add what they want to see into it: To some, vegan means it doesn’t include “processed foods” because they are unhealthy and, hand-wringing alert, aren’t we animals, tooooooo? Or they decide that only raw foodists are the real vegans because it’s the most “natural.” Or they may decide that getting vaccines during a global freaking pandemic isn’t vegan because of animal cruelty in the development process even though the definition of veganism allows for understanding that our world isn’t vegan yet, thus our contemptorary medical model is based on these systems that are still in place.

I am a tinkerer by nature. My mac-and-cheese recipe is in a perpetual state of refinement. When I write, I will edit until I hit publish, and then I will revise it again when I think of a new change in the middle of the night. I understand and respect that desire to hone and perfect, the curiosity and drive. Some things, though, were designed just right from the beginning because they fulfilled a need in a new, perfect way: Form met function and vice versa. Adding a water mister to a hammer because, hey, you might get hot when you’re hammering things is not only superfluous, it detracts from the elegant utility of the tool and how it was designed to function. To me, it is the same when people attach their own preferences to the vegan definition. It’s not necessary and it adds a leaden clumsiness to something that was pretty straightforward from the get-go. Yes, words are fluid but they also have meaning. Want to tinker with the vegan definition? Maybe you should make up a new word and its own definition. 

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