Gospel of Karin

For those of you interested in animals and ethics, here’s something you should know about from our friend Bill Lynn over at Ethos (the Practical Ethics blog).

Best,
Karin
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Last week I participated in a live broadcast that focused on the ethics and politics of killing some animals for the benefit of others.

For example, should we kill sea lions to save salmon, coyotes to protect sheep, wolves to safeguard cattle, or cats to preserve song-birds? These are the kinds of questions we addressed.

Hosted by Emily Harris and David Miller, ‘Playing God?’ was an episode of Think Out Loud, a fascinating programme of Oregon Public Broadcasting.

You can visit the ‘Playing God?‘ webpage to listen to the show, as well as add your comments to the interactive blog.

Next week I plan to write about the substance of the conversation for Ethos. Having the benefit of your thoughts on the Think Out Loud blog would be most helpful.

cheers, Bill

Check out this article in the New York Times today called “Roving Defender of Evolution, and Room for God.” The subject of the article is scientist and former Dominican priest, Francisco J. Ayala, who argues that belief in God and evolutionary theory are completely compatible.

This article reminded me of a paper I wrote not long ago on various views of the relationship of science and religion, based on the work of Templeton Prize winner Ian Barbour.

I’ll begin posting sections of that paper later today.

I no longer recall why the train stopped. Mechanical failure? Track maintenance? In any case, it did, for a good forty-five minutes one warm spring evening about two years ago.

I was traveling home from class at Boston University on one of Boston’s “T” commuter rails. There were just a few passengers remaining in the train car, all of us, as usual, keeping to ourselves: reading, sleeping, emailing.

Over the loud speaker came a voice telling us that the train was experiencing a brief delay, and that we’d be on our way as soon as possible. A good fifteen minutes passed until people began to noticeably squirm in their seats.

A soft breeze drifted through the car. The train’s outside doors were open, and someone had pulled back the sliding doors in the compartment to free the stifling air. Soon, people began looking upward as if anticipating that the voice might come back at any minute to break the silence as well as the stop, which for we frenzied commuters, was already beginning to feel interminable.

It’s not as though we were running out of things to do. Personally, I was so overloaded with assigned readings that I could have stayed on that train for days without finishing my work. Yet, here we all were, suddenly disconnected from our routines and suspended in time.

We gradually began to make eye contact as if each of us was searching for an anchor. And then there were the shoulder shrugs, the half smiles, and finally circumspect laugher as we began to engage in small talk, dipping our toes into the proverbial water.

Those farther back in the train began to move forward. We turned our bodies toward each other. What could possibly be going on? Wasn’t this so typical of the T? Geez, we may be here forever! Then we were exchanging names, talking about our day, where we lived and worked, and who was waiting for us at home.

The smiles were now full, and I began to feel surprisingly happy that the train had stopped for a reason I can no longer recall.

If you’re interested in seeing what brazen hypocrisy looks like, here’s an article from the New York Times you can’t pass up:

Humane Society Criticized in Meat Quality Scandal

It seems the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) has decided to blame the Humane Society of the U.S. (HSUS) for the Westland/Hallmark meat recall fiasco, because, they claim, HSUS did not immediately release an undercover video of downed cattle being abused at a Westland/Hallmark site. Apparently, HSUS, and not the department itself, is responsible for failing to treat animals humanely and ensure food safety. Below is an excerpt:

At a hearing on Capitol Hill on Tuesday, Representative Michael C. Burgess, Republican of Texas, assailed the Humane Society for waiting to inform the federal government.

“Why wait until February to release the video?” Mr. Burgess demanded of a Humane Society representative. “Why wait until now to bring this to our attention?”

His criticism echoed a point made last week by Ed Schafer, the secretary of agriculture, who said he was “extremely disappointed” in the Humane Society. He complained that “for four months, theoretically, animals were not being properly treated, and the Humane Society stood by and allowed it to happen.”

Let me offer a restatement of the above: “Why didn’t the Humane Society tell us to stop allowing the abuse of animals and to protect public health?”

Yes, it’s galling.

The USDA’s argument is particularly shameless because the Westland/Hallmark incident began as a humane treatment issue, not a food safety one. The case has led to the investigation of the USDA’s inspection procedures as a result of the evidence submitted by HSUS.

But I think the government is doing something here that is much more insidious than just scapegoating HSUS to cover its own embarrassing failures; it’s implying that those who care about animals are so concerned with their own agendas that they’ll sacrifice public safety to achieve their ends. No doubt some do. Most, however, do not.

Perhaps the more plausible interpretation of this story is that the USDA is so concerned with protecting agribusiness, they’ll sacrifice the safety of people and animals to do so. This is one example of how the oppression of humans and animals is tightly interlocked by those who callously industrialize creatures in the interest of profits.

The accusation by the USDA against HSUS is a classic, albeit subtle, example of how animal supporters are portrayed as hypocrites, often by hypocrites themselves. For more on this, see Animals and Why They Matter by philosopher and practical ethicist, Mary Midgley (University of Georgia Press, 1983).

Incidentally, HSUS did immediately come forth with the tape, but was asked by local prosecutors not to release it until after their investigation. So why did government prosecutors ask HSUS to delay? Sounds suspicious to me.

Painting: “The Scapegoat,” William Holman Hunt (1854). Courtesy Mark Harden’s Artchive, www.artchive.com.

Here in the Northeast, we’ve been pounded with several feet of snow over the past three days. My partner and I have a very small home on a tiny lot, and we’re quickly running out of room to put the stuff. He and I were out a few times today, huffing and puffing, often pausing to scan the yard for any nook and cranny that might be amenable to just one more shovel full, struggling to fling it ever higher atop the heaping piles of snow.

I caught myself starting to grouse under my breath. My arms hurt. My hands were cold. But then I remembered my father and his old pickup truck and plow. It was celery green. Big as a battleship. My brother once told me how, back in the early 80s, he used to ride around with dad during snow storms as he plowed out driveways at no charge, just for the fun of it. And I could picture my father, smile plastered across his face, Pall Mall dangling out one side of his mouth, shoving that snow into mountains, and yelling at my brother over the rumble of the giant engine “The old man’s pretty good, huh?”

And then I thought of a time years later when he broke his wrist shoveling. The truck was gone. It was expensive. He was sick with bone cancer, pretty far into it by then. He shouldn’t have been out there, but perhaps it never occurred to him that there was no reason he shouldn’t. He was doing what he’d always done, what most of us do when the snow falls, and the mess must be dealt with. We clean it up because that’s what we do and we’ll do it again next storm, next winter, next year. And maybe we complain a little. It’s tradition. I like it.

Today I moved the snow as always after a storm. My wrist did not break. My bones did not hurt. With luck I have a few more storms left in me. I paused for a breath then lifted the shovel a little higher.

On December 2, The New York Times ran an op-ed entitled “Giving You Christmas When You Want It” by Simon Doonan, Creative Director of Barneys New York.

I sent a letter to the editor in response, which the Times published today. You can read it here: “The True Meaning of Christmas,” or here:

“Giving You Christmas When You Want It,” by Simon Doonan (Op-Ed, Dec. 2), attributes our perennial holiday shock to a sense that the spiritual dimension of Christmas has been lost.

But I believe it has more to do with a feeling that the holiday season marks the passing of yet another year.

We wonder, where has the time gone? What have I done with my life? In other words, it’s not Christmas that sneaks up on us. It’s mortality.

A little holiday shopping is great fun. Too much numbs our innate sense that life is too precious to waste in the mall.

Note, I’m a frequent letter to the editor writer. My reasons are as follows:

• It’s a great way to engage with topics that interest you.
• The letters to the editor section is popular–you reach a lot of people.
• It’s fun to see your name in print!

Happy Holidays,
Karin

My boyfriend asked me recently when it was that my mother became religious. I told him it was just after my father died over twenty years ago. Before that, mom would have identified herself as a Christian, but she was certainly not a practicing one. After Dad passed, she explored the possibility of going back to the church. She also began to read the Bible on a regular basis.

The Bible reading stuck. The church did not. The reason she gave for leaving was that the church drove her crazy. “They were constantly calling me to do stuff,” she said. “I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

I know the feeling. I was, for the most part, raised an “unchurched” person. As a young kid, I attended a Catholic church for awhile (Dad’s idea). Then sometime later, we joined a Baptist church (Mom’s idea). Neither panned out. My parents weren’t all that committed to going, so when my five siblings and I began whining on Sunday mornings that we wanted to stay home, read the funnies, and eat jelly doughnuts, they gave in with little fuss.

It would be many years later that I, like my mother, would try the church again. It would also be the first time in my life that I would read the Bible almost cover to cover. But again, like my mother, the Bible reading stuck. The church did not.

Much had to do with the frenzy of it all. It seemed a constant flurry of activities often detracted from the spiritual dimension of worship. There was too much action, too little quiet reflection. Lots of chit-chatting in the pews about goings on while sermons were being preached. Once, a member strode up and down the main aisle of the sanctuary selling tickets to the church dinner just before Sunday service began.

I have much respect for the good and necessary work many churches do through their charitable and outreach programs. I’m especially impressed by how much they do with so few resources. I understand as well how enriching being involved in such activities can be. But I could not help but think that my church could have done less reaching out and more looking inward. As a church member, I often wondered whether others also felt that too little attention was given to their spiritual impoverishment.

Maybe they were being asked to give of themselves something they simply did not have. Their spiritual reserves were empty, sapped by the constant frenzy of their own lives. Maybe the church only added to the madness.

I’ll talk more in the future about my reasons for leaving the church. But that’s all for now. Tomorrow, back to panentheism.

My sweetheart left his coffee cup in the microwave this morning. This is not unusual. He has a funny habit of leaving it in different places around the house, then forgetting where he put it.

Often, he comes into the kitchen, refills his cup, nukes it, then leaves the room. Hours later, it’s still in the microwave. It was particularly poignant this morning because he had just left for a trip. When I found the cup half filled (half, never full — another idiosyncrasy) with stone-cold coffee, I was reminded of how much I love him. These little goofy things make him him. They and he make me very happy.

I went to the dentist today and a remarkable thing happened: my teeth went with me. I was relieved to discover them in my mouth when I arrived at the dentist because, given how little my former insurance company covered for dental care, I had begun to think my teeth were quite independent of me. And, following my insurer’s lead, it also seemed that I didn’t need my teeth either. So there. I can gum my food. People have done it for centuries.

So why was it then, that I was paying $300 per month for medical and dental when my insurance company would pay only a fraction of the cost for restorative dental work? Good question. I dumped the plan, and today, went to a dental school in Boston to see if they could offer me a reduced price on a crown. Sure, they may screw up and extract the tooth instead, but at least I’ll have further proof that my teeth are actually affixed to my body and that I need them more than they need me.