Humans are animals. That's what they say anyway. What does that mean?

Kingdom Metazoa. Eukaryotic cells. Mammals on the Discovery Channel. I think we think of that when we think of humans as animals. But let's set aside the wisdom of a bunch of idiots dressed up like bloodhounds doing a bunch of edgy bullshit and talk about what that means to me.

In the original novel, Dune (1965), Paul is presented with the pain box, and held at the mercy of the gom jabbar, an instantaneously deadly poisoned needle. He is told to hold his hand in the pain box or he will be killed. The test is given to ascertain whether or not he is "human" vs just an "animal." An animal will always act on instinct, while a human has the gift of awareness that could override this instinct. An animal will always recoil, whereas a human can choose to continue the suffering.

An animal can be trained, though. To withstand terror, to restrain their flinching. Our civilization practices this with us, keeping us confined screamless in our offices, or loading docks, or wherever we might find ourselves peddling our time to stay alive. And then it demands our unflinching silence when even our own lives seem paywalled behind even more labor. It could be said we face the gom jabbar of unemployment constantly while keeping ourselves jammed into the pain box.

So how do we prove our awareness, our "humanity"? Is there anything we can show that puts us apart from animals? Should there be anything?

I've never seen much of a difference between me and other lifeforms. I was born into this world with my own set of circumstances that involved a human brain and body, not much different than how a spider finds themselves with eight legs and whole lot of moisture. We wander through our existences, guided by the signals of our nervous systems and exit into whatever comes next, if anything at all.

I'm a lost denizen of this universe, making my way as best that I can, just like any creature, not just the animals. Even the trees and the grass come and go with nothing else but whatever they can muster from the finite material within their grasp. In some ways, the trees are guided by the wind more than the birds. More than I am.

Mixed metaphors aside, it does often feel that the only thing I get that an animal doesn't is the knowledge that I'll die someday, and the freedom to worry about that as much as I'd like. And even then I'm not so certain it's an exclusivity reserved only for us.

The term "animal" when leveled at humans is generally a debasement... or a turn on. But I digress, unless someone is naked and asking for it, it's generally not a great idea to call anyone an animal. Is that why I find so much discomfort in the words "humans are animals"?

After all my bluster about how we're not so different, why should I see anything wrong with being held to the same level as any other creature at a primal level? Obviously there are a great number of humans I despise for wasting their gifts on cruelty and banal obedience to the worst of the herd, and that to me is the most terribly human behavior of all, and yet we can find animals who engage in cruelty, in slavery, in violations that would make any torture-porn aficionado perhaps change the channel. Even in our worst ways are we not unique.

But then again, all of us are unique, aren't we? Not to sound too much like Mr. Rogers but each individual creature quickly accumulates a unique blend of characteristics even if born identical to another. Our experiences make us all something new and different, something the universe has never seen before and never will again. Each of us is a treasure, each with our own burdens.

In ways we are beasts of burden, carrying our biological drives to live if nothing else, pushing ourselves through good days and bad across a landscape of neverending horrors, and a finish line that promises absolutely nothing except an end to the journey.

We pick up burdens from everywhere. Our parents especially, but some of us are creative enough to make up a few more. I wonder if the animals feel a burden. I wonder if they shake their metaphorical fists to the moon and scream "unfair" like I have more than once. And embarrassingly sober.

I guess that's something we can't know, isn't it? Whether or not they feel the burden we do. I mean, can we even truly know the burden of our fellow humans, even when communicated? Some of us seem dead to the idea of hearing anything of substance from other humans, refusing to acknowledge they have any feelings at all. The sort of person who could stand to be in a pain box or two themselves.

And yet our links to each other are the most important things, aren't they? Extending our bids for connection so that we might have someone know a bit of our burden, and for us to know a bit of theirs. We see animals form communities all the time, some with a remarkable amount of complexity. Do they know each other's burdens?

I didn't exactly come in to this expecting to solve the age old question of what makes us human. I don't have any answers to that, and if someone ever does it'll probably be really interesting or insufferably contrived.

All I know is that I know I'm human. I've faced the gom jabbar and seen what the fear has left behind. I've changed my fate twice which is probably three more times than most people ever get. I stand here before the world as someone who knows my path and knows my burden and I carry it with less grace than I'd like some days, but I still carry it.

I've been lucky to make connections that have bound me to others and them to me. I've been courageous enough to know my death and say to the pain box "that all you got?" and accepted the humility it has granted me.

I've made my choices, not always completely aware of the consequences but they've been made and accepted nonetheless. I'm left here pondering my place in the universe as I carry my burden toward the inevitable. I stop to smell the roses, sometimes even with someone else. I know who I am, despite it all.

I'm not an animal. Except in some of the appropriate places.