Friday, January 2, 2009

Medical Paternalism and the Right to Die

Medical Paternalism and the Right to Die

Solomon Blaylock

CULTURAL STUDIES: ETHICS
Dr. Timothy Madigan
15 December 2008

Eleanor, a married woman in her early thirties, was dying. In the process of giving birth to a child her bleeding had become uncontrolled and the lack of blood had left her frail but conscious. She could only communicate by blinking. Eleanor’s doctors informed her that the sole way in which her bleeding could be brought under control was by means of a blood transfusion. Eleanor was one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, a religious group whose tenets include a prohibition against blood transfusions. She blinked twice, indicating that she did not want the treatment. Her husband was present and was asked four times by the attending physicians to reconsider a document that he and his wife had signed beforehand forbidding the use of blood. He refused and Eleanor died. “I understood how serious it was every time,” the husband later told reporters, “But God is serious too. He does promise resurrection and he does ask his servants to abstain from blood” (Childress 223-224).

Carrie was a young medical professional who came out of an automobile accident in a coma, sustaining multiple compound fractures of both legs and arms, facial fractures, and lacerations. A tracheotomy was performed and Carrie was put on a respirator. Needed orthopedic surgery was delayed as doctors waited for her condition to stabilize. In three weeks Carrie emerged from the coma and appeared to be alert, but could barely move a muscle—the accident had rendered her a quadriplegic and unable to speak. She was able, however, to understand her situation and communicate with slight muscle movements. She began signaling to her parents that she wished to be removed from the respirator. The doctors convinced Carrie’s parents to move her to a rehabilitation center where she continued to indicate to doctors, nurses, and even her minister that she wished to be allowed to die. She was being fed by means of a tube inserted into her small intestine and could not eat, swallow, smell, laugh, or cry. Her face bore a constant grimace of pain. In spite of the fact that the attending physicians agreed Carrie’s case represented “the worst possible scenario of someone being trapped in her own body,” her parents were informed that if they pursued legal action to remove their daughter from the respirator that they would be charged with murder. After contracting a lung infection, Carrie survived for another four weeks during which she developed meningitis and eventually died after having several seizures (Burnell 71-73).

There are scores of similar cases discussed in medical journals, online resources, and books on patients’ rights, with all manner of variations and nuances. A seemingly clearheaded patient inexplicably refuses lifesaving medical treatment, needed therapies are rejected for religious reasons, unconscious or developmentally disabled individuals are spoken for by spouses or parents only to have their decisions overturned by the courts, otherwise rational individuals demonstrate a state of complete denial over the seriousness of their conditions, and sometimes people who have lived long and productive lives simply decide that they no longer want to pursue treatment. Innumerable philosophical and ethical dilemmas are raised by such cases, but they may be generally distilled down to one basic question: Is it right to allow a human being to choose to die?

In this paper I will put a still finer point on the question and leave aside cases involving legal minors. I will argue that adults of legal age should never under any circumstances be compelled by the medical establishment or the state to accept lifesaving medical treatment. I will further argue that such adults, when certain strict legal criteria are met, should be permitted to request and doctors permitted to administer euthanasia, though doctors should be no means be legally compelled to do so.

In On Liberty, John Stuart Mill lays out some basic tenets of personal liberty:
There is a sphere of action in which society, as distinguished from the individual, has, if any, only an indirect interest; comprehending all that portion of a person’s life and conduct which affects only himself, or if it also affects others, only with their free, voluntary, and undeceived consent and participation….This, then, is the appropriate region of human liberty….the principle requires liberty of tastes and pursuits; of framing the plan of our life to suit our own character; of doing as we like, subject to such consequences as may follow: without impediment from our fellow creatures, so long as what we do does not harm them, even though they should think our conduct foolish, perverse, or wrong.


This definition of personal human freedom is simple, straightforward, and intuitive; it will underpin my contentions in this paper. Many people—and one would assume Americans in particular—would doubtless say that they agree with Mill’s take on liberty, at least in principal. But the devil is always in the details, and this is certainly true where lifesaving medical treatment or euthanasia are involved. In the course of discussing the legal right of patients to refuse treatment, Robert M. Veatch, Professor of Medical Ethics at Georgetown University, notes in Death, Dying, and the Biological Revolution:
Many commentators, including spokespersons for the American liberal
legal system, have given [patient] autonomy priority over the concern for
promoting the welfare of competent individuals. In this regard, the
American liberal tradition is in direct conflict with the more paternalistic Hippocratic ethical tradition of physicians, which commits the physician to doing what he thinks will benefit the patient even in cases where the patient thinks otherwise.


How one defines “benefit” in this context is central to the question of medical paternalism. L. S. Lim, in an essay revealingly titled “Medical Paternalism Serves the Patient Best” states: “Central to medicine is the belief in beneficience: the Hippocratic Oath commits the practitioner to using his/her special knowledge and skills to benefit the patient; it entrusts and obligates the doctor to do what is in the best interest of the patient” (italics mine). It is often observed in writings on medical ethics that the Hippocratic Oath enjoins doctors to observe both the principles of nonmaleficience (that is, of doing no harm) and beneficience (of doing good). However, as James F. Childress writes in Who Should Decide? Paternalism in Health Care: “The categories of “harm” and “benefit” are not clinical. Some philosophers argue that most, if not all, of our language of health and disease is value-laden….clinical judgments…may presuppose values that are not articulated or defended and that would be opposed if stated” (45). An example of this lies in the general attitude toward death itself. Among physicians death is widely held to be an evil that must be avoided at all costs and under all circumstances. However there is what appears to be a growing opinion among the general populace that under certain circumstances (ie. prolonged and unrelenting pain and suffering) death may be preferable to life. To speak of death as “preferable” to life raises certain metaphysical questions (for example, “who” is there to “prefer” a “state” of nonexistence to one of existence?), but we will leave those aside for now and focus on practical considerations. Of primary importance is the question: Legally speaking, who gets to decide what is in a patient’s best interests? I use the word “patient” rather than “person” for a reason. The question of the limits of a person’s autonomy when they have voluntarily come under the care of a physician is quite distinct from a scenario in which this is not the case. In an effort to keep the focus of this paper narrow we will restrict ourselves to the former situation.

I have averred that an adult human must always be allowed final say as to whether or not they will accept lifesaving medical treatment and that they should even be permitted to request and doctors permitted to administer euthanasia, under certain special circumstances. Before exploring the repercussions of such a stance I will define these “special circumstances.” For what reasons might an adult human find what is sometimes called “physician-assisted suicide” desirable? I will take it as given that only a relatively small percentage of the human population at any given time is actively interested in shortening their own lives. While in the United States statistics related to attempted suicides are not systematically gathered, numbers regarding self-inflicted deaths are and they would seem to back up the position that suicide, while certainly a problem, is not any major threat to the general structure or stability of society (Kung, et al.). We may therefore conclude that suicide is usually seriously considered primarily by individuals in severe mental or physical distress. In circumstances in which qualified medical professionals determined that a patient’s physical or mental suffering were indeed curable and thus temporary in nature, it would obviously be in the patient’s best long-term interest to be denied the option of physician-assisted suicide. If however a number of physicians were to conclude independently that a patient’s suffering was terminal and that the level of suffering experienced was unlikely to lessen, a compassionate legal code would make euthanasia available as an option, absolving any physicians involved from prosecution. Naturally such legislation would require careful wording and the establishment of a well-ordered bureaucracy charged with oversight in order to ensure the proper employ of this last-resort measure.

Now let us consider a few situations and the repercussions within each of adopting my laissez-faire stance toward death. Each of these cases is factual.

Case 1: Mr. C, an athletic man in his late twenties, was severely burned in a natural gas explosion. When we was admitted to the hospital Mr. C had third degree burns over almost two-thirds of his body and told the staff that he did not want to be treated, only to be kept out of pain. The staff was in fact able to save Mr. C and he spent the next nine months in the hospital undergoing skin grafts, surgeries, painful daily washings, and dressing changes, all while persistently calling for his attending physicians to stop treatment, an action that he knew would mean certain death. The next year Mr. C. continually refused further corrective surgery on his hands and demanded to be allowed to go home to die. He cited the excruciation pain of his daily treatments, utter loss of independence, and recurring tortuous nightmares as his reasons for wanting to die. Mr. C. eventually pursued legal action in an effort to be released from the hospital (Childress).

While the full details of Mr. C’s long-term prognosis are not discussed in the text from which this case is lifted, it is noted that Mr. C had only a very slim chance of ever regaining much independence and that he had been blinded by the explosion, his fingers had been grafted together, and that his arms and legs were not fully functional. Could it really be said that the patient’s “best interests” were served by keeping him alive in such a painful and disfigured state against his wishes? Is society somehow served by such a course of action, one that seems to be clearly moralistic or even underwritten by a desire to avoid punitive legal measures? Surely not. True compassion and respect for individual liberty must compel us to acquiesce to an individual’s desire to end his or her own life in such a situation.

Case 2: Elizabeth Bouvia was a young woman suffering from cerebral palsy and pain who said that she was suicidal and was admitted to a general hospital’s psychiatric ward. Though she could not feed herself or swallow, Ms. Bouvia refused tube feeding. The attending psychiatrist strongly opposed this refusal by a patient who had been admitted expressly because of her suicidal condition (Sullivan and Youngner).

In a decision regarding Ms. Bouvia’s competence to decide whether or not to refuse treatment, the appellate court noted that she “merely resigned herself to accept an earlier death, if necessary, rather than live by feedings forced upon her,” and that “a desire to terminate one’s own life is probably the ultimate exercise of one’s right to privacy” (Sullivan and Youngner). I contend that a person’s judged mental competence has nothing to do with whether or not their wishes regarding medical treatment should be respected, with the possible exception of cases in which family is involved. If a mentally retarded or depressed person wishes to forego lifesaving medical treatment, what business is it of the state or the medical establishment to interfere? If close family was involved however it might be argued that they had a personal, vested interest in the continued existence of one judged mentally incompetent, but this would need to be argued legally. It would still be unclear whether this would indeed be in the patient’s best interests, and that, always, should be the final determining factor in such controversies. The next case speaks to just this sort of scenario.

Case 3: Maida Yetter was committed to Allentown State Hospital in the early nineteen-seventies and diagnosed with chronic, undifferentiated schizophrenia. During a routine physical exam the next year it was discovered that she had a breast discharge which indicated the possibility of breast cancer. When her doctor recommended a surgical biopsy Ms. Yetter refused, saying that “she was afraid because of the death of her aunt which followed such surgery.” When later questioned about her stance before a court, Ms. Yetter added that she was concerned that “the operation would interfere with her genital system, affecting her ability to have babies, and would prohibit a movie career.” Ms. Yetter was 60 years old (Veatch).

It is tempting in such a case to judge the individual incompetent to make their own life-or-death decisions, and this is just what Ms. Yetter’s brother did. He sued to be appointed her guardian, but was unsuccessful. In his decision, the judge stated:
It is clear that mere commitment to a state hospital for treatment of mental illness does not destroy a person’s competency or require the appointment of a guardian….If the person was competent while being presented with the decision and in making the decision which she did, the Court should not interfere even though her decision might be considered unwise, foolish or ridiculous (Veatch).

Case 4: In the early nineteen-nineties a 35-year-old Long Island woman who was one of Jehovah’s Witnesses hemorrhaged shortly after giving birth. The attending physicians believed that a blood transfusion was necessary to save the woman’s life, but she refused the procedure. Fifteen other Jehovah’s Witnesses, including the woman’s husband, circled her bed in an effort to prevent the transfusion, for which the hospital obtained a court order, but they were arrested and the transfusion was administered. The woman survived and went on to sue the hospital. She won the case.

This particularly case was so contentious because of the fact that the woman had just given birth. It was in fact the first to come before New York State’s highest court that involved a parent of a minor refusing lifesaving treatment. In the decision, Chief Judge Sol Wachtler wrote: “Although the state will not permit a parent to abandon a child, the state has never gone so far as to intervene in every personal decision a parent makes which may jeopardize the family unit or the parental relationship.” So it would seem that even the interests of those deeply affected by a person’s decision to end their own life by refusing medical treatment do not outweigh the individual’s right to do so. Of course this is undoubtedly an area in which the state has a clear and vested interest. If the woman had not been survived by a husband, who would have taken care of the child? The man as a single father may have qualified for some governmental assistance. Can taxpayers be expected to foot the bill for individuals who make seemingly reckless decisions regarding their own welfare? This matter is far from settled, and many states currently have statutes that hold a child’s right to a parent above a parent’s right to refuse medical treatment.

In an article published in The American Journal of Psychiatry, Mark D. Sullivan, M.D., Ph.D., and Stuart J. Youngner, M.D. observe:
Longstanding traditions in medicine and tort law have opposed treatment refusal that will result in the death of the patient. However, the past three decades have brought our nation to a medical, legal, and social consensus that under the right circumstances, all types of life-sustaining medical interventions may be withheld or withdrawn….The recognition of the right to die has taken place in the wake of advances in medical technology that make it possible to prolong life beyond the prospect of return to a satisfying and functional existence.


This “medical, legal, and social consensus” has yet to manifest itself fully. Reason, compassion, and a deep commitment to a pure definition of personal liberty would seem to dictate that it must. At the very least, the matter deserves a great deal more investigation and scrutiny.


Works Cited
Burnell, George M. Final Choices: To or To Die in an Age of Medical Technology. New
York: Insight Books-Plenum Press, 1993.
Childress, James F. Who Should Decide? Paternalism in Health Care. New York: Oxford
University Press, 1982.

Kung, Hsiang-Ching, Donna L. Hoyert, Jiquan Xu, and Sherry L. Murphy. “Deaths: Final
Data for 2005.” National Vital Statistics Report. 56.10 (24 April 2008): 1-121.

Lim, L. S. “Medical Paternalism Serves the Patient Best.” Singapore Medical Journal
43.3 (2002): 143-147.

Mill, John Stuart. On Liberty. 1859. Batoche Books – Kitchener, 2001.

Sullivan, Mark D. and Stuart J. Youngner. “Depression, Competence, and the Right to
Refuse Lifesaving Medical Treatment.” The American Journal of Psychiatry 151.7 (1994): 971.

Veatch, Robert M. Death, Dying, and the Biological Revolution: Our Last Quest for
Responsibility. Revised ed. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989.

Verhovek, Sam Howe. “New York High Court Bars Forced Care to Save a Life.” The New York Times 19 January 1990.

Folk Remedies of the Carribean

Folk Remedies of the Caribbean

Solomon Blaylock

ETHNOBOTANY
Nikki Shrimpton
17 September 2008


For my first attempt at a semi-structured ethnobotanical interview I chose to speak with two of my workmates. Joseph Dyer (or “Obash,” as he is known) is a 50-year-old man from the U.S. Virgin Islands—specifically St. Thomas. His family has lived in the Virgin Islands for generations. Sharon Wallace-Frater was born and raised on the other side of Haiti/Dominican Republic in Jamaica where her family too has a long history. She is 45 years old. Both currently reside in Rochester, NY, and have lived here for some years. I have known Obash and Sharon since April of 2008 when I assumed my current work position and have been curious to know something of their cultural background and experiences beyond what could be gleaned from casual conversation. The current assignment seemed a perfect opportunity to learn more about them as individuals as well as to garner an unfamiliar perspective on human relations with the plant kingdom. I explained the nature of the ethnobotany course I am currently taking to Obash and Sharon and asked them if they would be game for interviews the next day. They agreed and I conducted back-to-back interviews with them during my lunch hour on Friday, September 12, 2008 at our place of employment with a short list of questions and a digital recorder.

I began each session by reiterating the nature of the project and asking what plants played a significant role in the interviewee’s daily life in their homeland. While Obash’s upbringing was somewhat less rural than Sharon’s—he grew up in a cul-de-sac with the hills behind his house, she in a small, mountainous farming community—they each recalled with ease a host of helpful plants and shared memories of grandmothers who were ready with a botanically-derived remedy for any ailment.

Obash is very fond of tea and spoke with relish of the myriad ‘tea bushes’ that grow on St. Thomas, some of which are easier to identify scientifically than others. His favorite tea was made from fresh lemongrass (Cymbopogon citrates), which he said was very relaxing in addition to being helpful in the treatment of headaches. Eucalyptus (Eucalyptus), tamarind (Tamarindus indica), and mint (likely peppermint—Mentha x piperita) all hold a special place in his heart and teacup, as do two plants that he could identify only by their colloquial island names: ‘haraba saraba’ and ‘sawasa,’ the latter being frequently used to help cranky children sleep. Obash also credits his grandmother’s prescription of ‘sawasa’ tea with helping his young nephew overcome a pesky bedwetting habit.
Obash’s mother tended a garden behind their home, from which he especially enjoyed fresh thyme (Thymus), basil (Ocimum L.), rosemary (Rosmarinus L.), and parsley (Petroselinum). He also noted the healing properties of a wheatlike plant known to the islanders as ‘mangrass,’ which is pounded, boiled, and applied as a soothing balm to burns. Marijuana (Cannabis sativa) grows freely on the island and is enjoyed as in many other parts of the world, but it keeps company with a purportedly strange and dangerous psychoactive plant known only as ‘manbettaman.’ “People cut it and boil the inside of it. It makes you go loony!” he claims, citing his own brother as evidence.

Obash was once a practitioner of the Rastafarian social movement/religion and noted the particular efficacy of ‘cassie’ (an island cactus apparently of the genus Opuntia) and aloe (Aloe vera) prepared with seawater as a shampoo and conditioner, respectively, for the formation and maintenance of dreadlocks. The pulp of the aloe plant, known to locals as ‘sepawhitey,’ is also held on the islands to be a peculiarly effective purgative and is even used routinely in an effort to thwart drug tests.

Sharon began her interview by recalling various plants used for food in small-town Jamaica. In the absence of meat a common stew was made by combining yam (Dioscorea L.), a squash called ‘chocho’ (perhaps of the genus Cucurbita), and carrot (Daucus carota) with ‘badu heart’—the stem of a plant known to Jamaicans as ‘coco,’ distinct from the familiar source of chocolate. A bit of research on the USDA Natural Resources Conservation Service Plants Database turns up a plant called the ‘coco yam’ (Colocasia esculenta) that seems to fit Sharon’s general description.

Sharon’s grandmother was also skilled in the preparation and application of plant-based remedies; her family often referred to her jokingly as a “bush doctor.” A flower from the trumpet tree (Cecropia obtusifolia) held securely against the head was supposed to relieve a headache. Another topical remedy came in the form of basil leaves soaked in rum and stored underground, dug up and applied to the skin of one suffering from a fever before retiring to bed wrapped in a blanket. Ginger (Zingiber officinale) is readily available and is employed to relieve stomach pain, as is a plant known as ‘Search-Me-Heart,’ which I have yet to identify. Sharon says that the main botanical remedy for pain is an equally difficult-to-identify plant called ‘sirussy.’ It is very bitter, but when boiled and drank it is said to make pain fly.

Marijuana is also common in Jamaica and Sharon says she often encountered the plant in her grandmother’s garden, though she was cautioned to keep her distance. Local Rastafarians would gather once monthly for worship services at which they would pass a ‘chillum pipe’ packed with the dried, crushed herb. Sharon noted that the use of cannabis among the Rastafari was quite different than that among casual smokers in the U.S., for whom it often becomes a daily habit. She remarked that she had never seen a ‘dread’ smoke an entire joint alone—it was always passed among a group of fellow philosophers.

Speaking with Sharon and Obash was a distinct pleasure, and they clearly enjoyed the opportunity to reflect on youth, family, homeland, and tradition. Both obviously thought very highly of their grandmothers—these women were clearly respected as wise and benevolent, serving their families as physicians of sorts in addition to their regular homely duties. Both also noted that the inhabitants of the islands continue to be much more closely tied to the earth and natural sources of food and medicine than those of us in the United States, where processed and packaged goods fill every need. Their vision of the places of their birth is not self-righteous or utopian. Rather, it is one that acknowledges the inevitable changes that come with popular prosperity and economic development and holds fond feeling for simpler circumstances, and perhaps the simpler days of childhood. They recall circumstances in which plants are not exclusively ornamental but closely bound with daily life and ceaselessly useful.


Works Cited
United States Department of Agriculture: Natural Resources Conservation Service: Plants Database. 15 September 2008. 16 September 2008. .

Friday, July 11, 2008

God and Man in Classical and Medieval Art

ART HISTORY SURVEY
Marc Cirigliano
29 June 2008

Early Christian tradition holds that the Apostle John was in exile on the small Mediterranean island of Patmos sometime between 81 and 96 CE when he received a divine revelation (Biesen). In his vision John was transported to heaven and saw god himself enthroned, surrounded by a retinue of four fantastical “living creatures” and “twenty-four elders” adorned with gold crowns and clothed in white robes. According to John, the four living creatures “do not rest day or night, saying: “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, Who was and is and is to come!”” He continues:

Whenever the living creatures give glory and honor and thanks to Him who sits on the throne, who lives forever and ever, the twenty-four elders fall down before Him who sits on the throne and worship Him who lives forever and ever, and cast their crowns before the throne, saying: “You are worthy, O Lord, To receive glory and honor and power; For You created all things, And by Your will they exist and were created.” (Revelation 4:9-11)

Such was the early Christian view of heavenly perfection—a life spent in ceaseless praise of god, uninterrupted by the needs of the fallen flesh. To god and god alone was due all adulation, all honor, and all glory as the source of “every good gift and every perfect gift” (James 1:17). This was also the prevailing view among artists, artisans, and scholars throughout western Europe during the medieval period. The heirs to the Roman Empire inherited the religion of Constantine and its expression was made manifest in painting, song, crafts, sculpture, architecture, and manuscripts. Everywhere was the face of the otherworldly, the transcendent. It had not always been so. A consideration of the centuries prior reveals a Rome perhaps no less religious, but much more concerned with matters corporeal and earthly. The cultural forebear of Rome was Greece, and among its ancient inhabitants we find a similar outlook and similar preoccupations. Stepping backwards through time the figures of Jesus, the saints, and prophets give way to those of ordinary (and sometimes extraordinary) men and women, to pastoral scenes and monuments to battle. Even the exploits of a pantheon of gods have a distinctly human feel, giving one a much clearer sense of gods made in the image of man rather than the other way around. The art and architecture produced by both the pre-Christian and Christian inhabitants of Europe are possessed of their own distinct charms and offer us a view to the cultural and mundane lives of those who forged our civilization.

Protagoras, the Greek philosopher of the fifth century BCE, is credited with writing: “Of all things the measure is man, of the things that are, that [or "how"] they are, and of things that are not, that [or "how"] they are not” (Poster). While his words have been interpreted in many different ways, we can see in them a straightforward wisdom—what we know we know from experience, this experience coming to us through our senses, thus, we necessarily understand all things as they relate to humans and in human terms. This attitude is abundantly evident in the surviving examples of Classical Greek art. The human form is ubiquitous, from the ancient stylized kouroi to the red-figure characters that lay in two crisp dimensions on Hellenic pottery. The figures of men, and to a lesser extent women, were chiseled in stone and hammered in metal, surviving through the centuries to confront us today with the graceful ease of the Kritios Boy and the stalwart strength of the fifth century BCE Warrior (Fleming 53, 55). To another philosopher of Classical Greece, Xenophanes, is attributed the famous skeptical declaration: “Mortals deem that gods are begotten as they are, and have clothes like theirs, and voice and form….The Ethiopians make their gods black and snub-nosed; the Thracians say theirs have blue eyes and red hair” (Russell). This trenchant observation is certainly borne out by surveying the sculptural examples of Polyclitus’s Doryphorus, Hermes and the Infant Dionysus (thought to be the work of Praxiteles), Myron’s Discobolus, and the Zeus [or Poseidon] of Artemisium (Fleming 41-43). Had we not their titles to distinguish them, just how could we determine the humanity or divinity of the figures depicted? For the Greeks, the gods were only important insofar as they interacted with humans; their actions and motives were mirrors of our own—sometimes noble, often selfish, and always bearing consequences. The ancient Greeks had their ideas about an afterlife, but understanding, satisfaction, fulfillment were to be sought in one’s present existence, particularly in the family and in the community. Little wonder that democracy found its genesis among such a people.

Later Hellenistic art, while developing its own strong emotionality and even a “superhero”-type stylization, retained this emphasis on the human. The dramatic pathos of Hellenistic sculpture, painting, and early mosaic work served to imbue its subjects with an easy-to-identify-with humanity, even as muscles bulged, robes fluttered, and torsos twisted beyond the realm of everyday experience. The frieze gracing the Pergamene Altar of Zeus exemplifies this complexity beautifully (Fleming 70, 71). The faces and bodily forms of the gods and monsters are recognizably human, but the musculature is such as could bring back to earth the strange phantasmagorias that are the bodies of professional body builders. Other examples of Hellenistic art are less bombastic but powerfully emotive nonetheless. The stark and tragic realism of the second century BCE Old Market Woman forces the viewer to face unflinchingly the inevitable bodily dilapidation of old age, demonstrating the artist’s commitment to a truly naturalistic representation (Fleming 82). Such realism later found its own unique expression in the art of the Roman Empire, as evidenced by works such as the Ara Pacis Augustae and portrait sculpture after the fashion of Portrait of a Roman Lady (Fleming 91, 100).

The conversion of Emperor Constantine to Christianity in the early fourth century CE set in motion a dramatic cultural shift that would ripple throughout the Roman Empire and beyond. No longer was ‘man the measure of all things,’ for, as the Apostle Paul exhorted the early Corinthian Christians, “The wisdom of this world is foolishness with God….Therefore let no one boast in men” (1 Corinthians 19, 21). The same John mentioned above admonished his fellow believers thusly: “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him….the world is passing away, and the lust of it; but he who does the will of God abides forever” (1 John 2:15, 17). For the early Christians, earthly human life—the life with which the ancient Greeks and Romans had been so concerned, the life that was enshrined in their art, the only life we really know—was a painful and brief stop on the way to the righteous man’s ultimate heavenly destination. The things of the world only had value insofar as they represented the things of god; the worth of a work of art was judged, not by its power to reflect humanity, but by its ability to direct its audience to the only proper source of reflection and praise—god. And so we have the breathtaking Christ as the Good Shepherd in the mausoleum of Galla Placidia in Ravenna, the gasp-inducing dome of the Hagia Sophia, and the psychedelic whorls of the Book of Kells. With some irony we wonder: without such devotion to the transcendent, to the inexpressible, to the nonphysical, how ever would man have wrought from the mundane and material such treasures as the Alhambra and the Cathedral of Chartres?

Of course, in a very real sense man is indeed the measure of all things, and even visions of heaven must be rendered in symbols and language familiar to mortals in order to carry any impact, to motivate to any action. Thus we encounter the contradictions endemic to religious expression. The glorious Abbey of Cluny, calling the mind of the monastic and the lay visitor heavenward in the smallest of its multiform details, caused St. Bernard to tsk: “What, think you, is the purpose of all this? The compunction of penitents, or the admiration of beholders?” (Fleming). The latter was surely not to be countenanced; it was god’s glory, not that of Hugh of Semur, that was appropriately evoked by Cluny’s soaring arcades and restless expanse, by what we can only imagine was its ornate and solemn cloister, its still and elegant chapels. La Tapiesserie, the oddly long and elaborate banner of medieval embroidery we know as the Bayeux Tapestry, spends 77 yards apotheosizing William the Conqueror, every dramatic detail ostensibly mapping out god’s own plan and vindicating ‘His’ will in what was surely one of the most profoundly religious times in the history of the West. One does not easily forget the shimmering images in mosaic of Emperor Justinian (avec halo, no less) and Empress Theodora, leading the gaze of worshippers toward the altar of San Vitale. We, the audience, are surely confronted with a puzzling disconnect on par with the erection of the grand Church of St. Francis in Assissi, honoring a man who was, by all accounts, a humble and decidedly unmaterialistic sage with stunning luxury.

We conclude on a philosophical note. Humans are chemical baths—bundles of something or other that can, for better or worse it does not matter, only make sense of any thing with which they come in contact by assessing that thing in familiar terms of the reaction it produces. Light pierces a watery lens, sound vibrates a delicate membrane of skin, gases tickle fine hairs, and from these sensations we create the universe, fellow inhabitants, even a grand author of it all. How can man but be the measure of all things? We create and we see that it is good. What else are we to do?



Works Cited

Fleming, William. Fleming’s Arts and Ideas. 10th ed. Ed. Mary Warner Marien.

Wadsworth-Thompson Learning, 2005.

Holy Bible: The New King James Version. Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1982.

Poster, Carol. “Protagoras.” The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy. 2006. 29 June

2008. .

Russell, Bertrand. A History of Western Philosophy. New York: Simon & Schuster,

1972.

Van den Biesen, Christian. "Apocalypse." The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 1. New York:

Robert Appleton Company, 1907. 1 Jan. 1970. 29 June 2008.

.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Sugar and the Western World

Sugar and the Western World

Solomon Blaylock

WESTERN CIVILIZATION: 1648 TO PRESENT
Dr. Wayne Willis
2 January 2008


Sugar is in everything. It seems to be, anyway. Modern books on health and dieting delight in exposing the hidden sugars that lurk in the dietary shadows: ketchup, cough drops, fruit juice, bread, crackers, canned beans, potato chips, pickles, margarine…all rife with sugar. The use of the pejorative adjective rife is no accident—my generation witnessed the systematic vilification of sugar from our earliest days. We watched cartoons featuring diabolical sugars, personified with angry eyebrows and malicious frowns attacking pure, innocent, white teeth as unsuspecting children slept. In addition to tooth decay, we had obesity to fear and, as adolescence neared, the looming specter of an acneic complexion. Twinkies, Ding-Dongs, candy bars, soft drinks, cakes, pies, and cookies were the apples dangling from the forbidden tree, and as we approached adulthood we came to see just how pervasive this menace truly was. Even most products touted as sugar-free contain sugar in some sneaky guise. Is there no sanctuary from this wily carbohydrate?

Actually, no. The jury is still out on just how awful sugar is for humans, but its omnipresence in the modern Westerner’s diet is really extraordinary; all the more so when we consider what a short history we have with it. What was once a luxury of kings now finds itself (in bulk quantities) in the most impoverished household’s pantry. My mother made pitchers of Kool-Aid most every day during the summer months of my early childhood, each brimming with a full cup of refined white sugar for two quarts of water. My father fried bacon in sugar. Have a cup of coffee at any restaurant or any private home and you will be asked whether you take sugar. Have a can of soda and you’ll likely enjoy nine tablespoons of the stuff. Just how did this granulated and dubious commodity come to a position of such ubiquity?

The answer is surprising in its complexity. The route that sugar has taken from the wild canes of New Guinea c.9000 B.C.E. to the breakfast tables of everyday American families is marked by conquest, imperialism, naked avarice, and savage brutality (Macinnis 3). During the course of its journey, sugar has changed the ecologies, governments, economies, and even populations of the lands with which it has come in contact. As Peter Macinnis says of this “troublesome crop” in Bittersweet: The Story of Sugar, by the dawn of the modern era:

It had made fortunes, caused rebellions, battles and bloodshed, made and broken empires, led to the enslavement and death of millions and, in the process, to the transplanting of blocks of humanity around the world, taking 20 million Africans to the Americas, Japanese and Chinese to Hawaii, Indians to the West Indies, the Pacific, Mauritius and Natal in South Africa, and Pacific Islanders to Australia, all in the interests of making other people rich. (11)

Sugar is a naturally occurring carbohydrate, present in peculiarly high concentrations in sugar cane and beets. It is cane sugar that interests us in this paper. Stone Age inhabitants of New Guinea presumably discovered the tasty properties of the sugar cane and began its earliest propagation (Macinnis XIX). The cane itself is sweet to chew on, but the technology required to produce granulated sugar appears to have developed much later in India (Macinnis 5). Traders and conquerors carried this unique crop far from its home over the course of centuries. It’s pre-European journey is summarized thusly by Barbara L. Solow in Capitalism and Slavery in the Exceedingly Long Run: “From its origin in the South Pacific, sugar spread to Southeast Asia and India and was brought to the West by the Arabs in the Muslim era” (712). This dispersing took close to 1,000 years; along the way, the process of shredding the sugar cane and extracting its juice, which was then boiled and refined to crystals, was perfected (Macinnis 6). It was at this point in history that sugar’s dark side began to emerge. As Ms. Solow continues: “sugar spread with Islam….From the Muslim era, sugar and slavery were associated” (712). Those impressed into labor at this time in history were from diverse lands and ethnic groups. Warfare, piracy, and outright human traffic kept a steady stream of Greeks, Slavs, Turks, sundry other Europeans, Asians, and Africans under the yoke (Hunt et al. 468). However, even the slave trade itself would eventually be radically transformed by sugar.

During the seventh century, Islamic civilization expanded greatly throughout Africa, Asia, and Europe; sugar cane, along with mills for processing it and slave labor to do the work, were always in tow, especially in and around the Mediterranean. It was only a matter of time before Europeans were introduced to sugar. Once they were, their sweet tooth was difficult to sate. Peter Macinnis explains: “The first Crusade began in 1099, and soon enough, returning Crusaders were spreading the word in Europe about sugar and sugar cane. Sugar was imported into Northern Europe, initially as a medicine, and then as an addition to food and drink” (17-18). Sugar was an exotic luxury item at this point; even a symbol of status. But the Arabs had been losing ground around the Mediterranean in the preceding century, and centers of sugar production like Crete, Cyprus, and eventually Sicily and Malta fell under the control of European powers (Macinnis 16). Italy emerged as the new sugar power, and developed what have since been recognized as the precursors of full-fledged sugar plantations. Barbara Solow relates how ensuing events would serve to solidify the importance, not only of sugar as a valuable commodity, but of the slave trade as a means for providing the plentiful, cheap labor necessary for its large-scale production:

The historical story is that the Italians transferred the sugar-slave complex, which they had developed as a means of colonial exploitation, to Madeira, the Canaries, and the West African islands. The consequent flows of capital, labor, sugar, and manufactures turned these colonies one by one into centers of international trade, uniting them with Europe and Africa in a complex web of transactions. Slavery opened investment opportunities for Europe and allowed northern Europe to trade in manufactures for sugar. (717)

In the annals of sugar history, the name Madeira is one of the major headings. While it is thought that Sicilians made the major innovation in sugar production of the fifteenth century—the roller mill, which substantially reduced the time and labor necessary to process sugar, thus exponentially boosting production—it was the Portuguese who actually settled the island of Madeira (Sugar & Slave Trades). Land was plentiful, and thanks to a brisk slave trade, so was labor. By 1500 the island had eighty mills and was the largest sugar exporter in the world (Arduini). Though it is disputed as to whether the production systems on Madeira could actually be referred to as plantations, great changes were in the offing that would soon affect many more lands and peoples than those of the island itself and mainland Europe. According to B. W. Higman in The Sugar Revolution:

Studies of sugar in fifteenth-century Madeira, by [V.] Rau, concluded that,
although the island’s colonization, deforestation, and development of sugar as an export economy within a period of just 30 years was ‘a truly extraordinary phenomenon’, it was based on small-scale production units and limited slavery, and thus ‘still far from the great sugar-cane plantations of future Brazil, with their slavery institutions and their great mill and plantation owners’. (220-221)


Before we take a look at sixteenth and seventeenth century Brazil, the next major heading in the great sugar timeline, it is worth noting at this point that, as alluded to above, large-scale sugar production has historically wreaked environmental havoc wherever it took place, primarily due to soil erosion. Oliver D. Cheesman notes in Environmental Impacts of Sugar Production: “sugar crops differ from many others in that the economic product is not derived from the reproductive portion of the plant…but from the vegetative structures (the stalk of cane)” (5). He also says that “Sugarcane plantations in many tropical and sub-tropical countries have led to perhaps the largest losses of biodiversity of any single agricultural product”, much of it historical (xiii). The story of the world’s most popular sweetener only gets gloomier.

When Portugal began its colonization of Brazil in the early fifteenth century, its primary quarry was precious metals. The going was slow, however, and making the colony profitable became top priority. Enter sugar. Solow informs us:
The crown soon undertook to encourage sugar production as the most likely road to riches until gold was found. Development was slow at first, but by the middle of the sixteenth century the industry was well established; in the last quarter of the century production increased tenfold. From 1575 to 1650 Brazil supplied most of Europe’s sugar and imported considerable quantities of manufactured goods and slaves. (726)

By the time Brazilian sugar reached Europe, it was no longer a luxury item reserved for kingly courts, but an inexpensive and wildly popular commodity. It was also in Brazil that the first truly grand-scale production of sugar took place. Harvesting and processing techniques developed on Madeira were employed on a massive scale, which was, according to Mark Johnston in The Sugar Trade in the West Indies and Brazil Between 1492 and 1700, “based upon a system resembling sharecropping, where the owner…leased his land to a number of smaller planters in return for a portion of the sugar produced”. By the 1640s the small Brazilian archipelago of Pernambuco alone exported more than 24,000 tons of sugar a year (Johnston). The face of slavery had undergone a distinct transformation by this time. According to John Hope Franklin and Alfred A. Moss, Jr. in From Slavery to Freedom: “It was the introduction of sugar into the colony [of Brazil] about 1540 that stimulated the importation of Negro slaves, and after that time the slave trade continued unabated” (Franklin & Moss 49). The numbers are staggering. By 1630, 60,000 African slaves had already been shipped to Brazil (Hunt, et al. 569). Very soon, however, the miserable chattel of European colonialists would have a new destination.
In Sweetness and Power, S. W. Mintz claims: “The first sweetened cup of hot tea to be drunk by an English worker was a significant historical event, because it prefigured the transformation of an entire society, a total remaking of its economic and social basis” (214). The increasing demand for sugar certainly had a tremendous impact on the European continent—consumer society was blossoming, the hoi polloi were awash in disposable income and new wants, and fabulous wealth was being generated—but the greatest changes were taking place in the New World. The English, French, and Dutch had seen the enormous potential for wealth in sugar plantations, and now they were ready for a piece of the action. Sugar production ebbed in Brazil and found a new home in the Caribbean. Barbados, Haiti, and Cuba were to be the next lands bulldozed by the sugar juggernaut.

The Sugar Revolution is a term that many different authors have used with some variation in meaning, but, as pointed out by B. W. Higman, “Title to the sugar revolution remains firmly located in the seventeenth-century West Indies” (222). On these islands, during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, truly remarkable events transpired, and sweet sugar fell on what would prove to be its darkest days. Higman states:

The six central elements of the sugar revolution are commonly regarded as a swift shift from diversified agriculture to sugar monoculture, from production on small farms to large plantations, from free to slave labour, from sparse to dense settlement, from white to black populations, and from low to high value per caput output. More broadly, it is claimed that the sugar revolution had five effects: it generated a massive boost to the Atlantic slave trade, provided the engine for a variety of triangular trades, altered European nutrition and consumption, increased European interest in tropical colonies, and, more contentiously, contributed vitally to the industrial revolution. (213)

This last item is the subject of vigorous debate, but the rest are commonly agreed upon. Barbados experienced its sugar boom first. The beginning days in the 1640s were small, with only a few hundred African slaves and indentured Europeans to do the dangerous and backbreaking work, but by the end of the century, the black population soared to more than 80,000; this growth was typical of the Caribbean islands at the time (Franklin & Moss 42). Conditions were nightmarish. According to Franklin and Moss:

The mortality rate among newly arrived slaves was exceptionally high, with estimates of deaths running to as much as 30 percent in a seasoning period of three or four years. Old and new diseases, change of climate and food, exposure incurred in running away, suicide, and excessive flogging were among the main causes of the high mortality rate. In the West Indies slaves were sent to the farms at daybreak and they labored all day except for a thirty-minute period for breakfast and a two-hour period in the hottest portion of the day, which was frequently the time set aside for doing lighter chores. (43)

This was all, of course, what greeted those with the dubious luck of surviving the journey from Africa. Men, women, and children were chained neck and foot, loaded onto huge ships and stuffed below deck in impossible quantities and concentrations. The heat was intolerable, provisions scant, disease epidemic. Vomit and human waste accumulated during the voyage, exacerbating the filthy and pestilent conditions. Countless died, and survivors emerged from cargo holds wasted skeletons before beginning a hopeless life of abject servitude (Sugar & Slave Trades).

For all of its inhumanity, the Caribbean plantation system was enormously profitable. Returning to The Sugar Revolution, Higman cites scholarly agreement on the gigantic impact of West Indian sugar on English trade:

[Nuala] Zahedieh, for example, stated that ‘sugar quickly became England’s leading colonial import and, from its first arrival on the market in the 1640s, yielded a far higher and steadier profit than any other American cash crop’. In the period 1600-1800, argued [Robert William] Fogel, slave-produced sugar was ‘the single most important of the internationally traded commodities, dwarfing in value the trade in grain, meat, fish, tobacco, cattle, spices, cloth, or metals’. (225)

Of course, nothing stays the same for very long, and as grim as our look at sugar’s travels has been, the scene underwent some dramatic changes in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Slavery was gradually abolished in the Caribbean, and a drop in sugar production usually accompanied abolition as it touched each island in turn. A notable exception was Cuba, which assumed dominance of the sugar trade after Haiti’s slaves were liberated and maintained sugar as its primary export even after slavery was abolished on the island itself in the late nineteenth century, on into and during the course of the twentieth century (Dodson).

While sugar production in modern times is very different than it was during the ‘Sugar Revolution,’ it continues to exact an enormous toll on the environment, and many of the laborers involved in the process still toil under slave-like conditions (Cheesman). To be sure, efforts are being made by environmental groups to implement more eco-friendly practices, and the brutal working conditions faced by laborers in the cane fields of places like the Dominican Republic are being subjected to more scrutiny and criticism than ever before, but the situation remains troublesome (Turnham). So much tribulation and suffering connected to a simple, sweet food. How are we to make sense of such a thing?

S. W. Mintz, quoted above on the significance of sugar’s introduction to the English working class, went on to note: “We must struggle to understand fully the consequences of that and kindred events, for upon them was erected an entirely different conception of the relationship between producers and consumers, of the meaning of work, of the definition of self, of the nature of things.” While nothing can be done to reverse the harrowing events of the past, the present is surely ours with which to do as we see fit, and the future is entirely in our hands. There are steps that we can take to encourage more sensible environmental and labor practices, and surely each of us should feel a personal responsibility to do whatever we can as individuals. But perhaps it is equally important for us all to consider our individual roles as consumers and producers, to do as Mintz advises and pay close attention to the lessons of history. We must be determined that, insofar as we are concerned, greed, ambition, and prejudice will not blind us to the destructive consequences of seemingly simple choices, such as what we put in our mouths and where we spend our money. We must be resolved that our comfort and satisfaction will not derive from the suffering of others. The complexity of the situation in which we find ourselves certainly does not excuse us from the obligation to think deeply about our actions and the conditions that they precipitate—it is only through mindful consumption that we may hope to prevent the recurrence of a destructive cycle such as that wrought by the introduction of sugar to the Western world.



Works Cited
Arduini, Mark, et al. “Sugar Introduction”. Captive Passage: The Transatlantic Slave
Trade and the Making of the Americas. 2002. The Mariner’s Museum. 3 January
2008. < http://www.mariner.org/captivepassage/arrival/arr007.html>.

Cheesman, Oliver D. Environmental Impacts of Sugar Production: The Cultivation and
Processing of Sugarcane and Sugar Beet. Surrey: CABI, 2004.

Dodson, Howard. “How Slavery Helped Build A World Economy”. Jubilee: The
Emergence of African-American Culture. Schomburg Center for Research in
Black Culture. National Geographic Books, 2003. National Geographic News.
3 Feb. 2003. 27 Dec. 2007. 0131_030203_jubilee2.html>.

Franklin, John Hope and Alfred A. Moss, Jr. From Slavery to Freedom: A History of
Negro Americans. 1947. Fortieth Anniversary Edition. New York: McGraw-Hill,1988.

Higman, B. W. “The Sugar Revolution”. The Economic History Review. New Series,
Vol. 53, No. 2. May, 2000. 213-236. JSTOR. 16 Dec. 2007. Sici?sici=0013-0117%28200005%292%3A53%3A2%3C213%3ATSR%3E2.0.CO%3B2-B>.

Hunt, Lynn, et al. The Making of the West: Peoples and Cultures: A Concise History.
Boston/New York: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2007.

Johnston, Mark. “The Sugar Trade in the West Indies and Brazil Between 1492 and
1700”. The James Ford Bell Library, University of Minnesota Web Site. 2008. 6 Jan. 2008. .

Macinnis, Peter. Bittersweet: The Story of Sugar. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin, 2002.

Mintz, S. W. “Sweetness and Power: The Place of Sugar in Modern History”. New York,
1985. Quoted in Higman, B. W. “The Sugar Revolution”. The Economic History Review. New Series, Vol. 53, No. 2. May, 2000. 213-236. JSTOR. 16 Dec. 2007. 3C213%3ATSR%3E2.0.CO%3B2-B>.

Solow, Barbara L. “Capitalism and Slavery in the Exceedingly Long Run”. Journal of
Interdisciplinary History. Vol. 17, No. 4, “Caribbean Slavery and British
Capitalism”. Spring, 1987. 711-737. JSTOR. 16 Dec. 2007. sici?sici=0022-1953%28198721%2917%3A4%3C711%3ACASITE%3E2.0.CO%3B2-5>.

“The Sugar and Slave Trades”. The European Voyages of Exploration – Home Page. The
Applied History Research Group. 5 July 2001. University of Calgary. 3 January
2008. .

Turnham, Steve. “Is Sugar Production Modern Day Slavery?” Anderson Cooper Blog
360°. 18 Dec. 2006. CNN.com. 12 Jan. 2008. < http://www.cnn.com/CNN/
Programs/anderson.cooper.360/blog/2006/12/is-sugar-production-modern-day-slavery.html>.

Monday, December 31, 2007

Is Buddhism a Religion?

Is Buddhism a Religion?

Solomon Blaylock


PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION
Dr. Timothy Madigan
18 December 2007
On any given Sunday in Rochester, NY, one can walk into any number of dimly lit and elaborately decorated houses of worship. In each of these, the focal point of the main room will be an altar, and the central figure on that altar will be a man in robes said to have come down from heaven in order to grant salvation to humankind. The walls will be lined with pictures and statues of saints, shelves will be stacked with ancient texts. Candles will be flickering and the sweet, pungent smell of incense will hang in the air. Congregants will gradually trickle into the sanctuary, kneeling reverently before taking their seats, mumbling prayers and fingering rosaries. The officiant will assume his place before those assembled and greet them; they will respond in kind. A sermon will follow, hymns will be sung, and the service will conclude with a prayer. Most of these houses of worship are Roman Catholic churches; one is a Tibetan Buddhist center.

Followers of the Tibetan tradition are not the only Buddhists engaged in religious services of a Sunday morning in Rochester. At Wat Lao Asokaram, saffron robed monks will chant their liturgy in the ancient Pali language before accepting offerings of food from the assembled laity, followed by water oblations for deceased relatives. Incense is proferred and sutras (said to be the words of the Buddha) are intoned by black clad acolytes prior to a sermon at the Rochester Zen Center. These three groups represent the three major schools of Buddhist practice in our day: the Vajrayana (or Diamond Vehicle, designating the Tantric Buddhist practice of Tibet, Bhutan, etc.), the Mahayana (or Great Vehicle of China, Japan, Korea, etc.), and Theravada (the School of the Elders, said to be the oldest surviving Buddhist tradition, of Southeast Asia), respectively. Each group seems to exemplify the definition of the word religion as presented in The Oxford Dictionary of English: “the belief in and worship of a superhuman controlling power, especially a personal God or gods”. While it is true that most Buddhists do not profess belief in a creator deity, each of the major schools does affirm the existence of gods and ascribes a supernatural nature to the Buddha himself, to whom worshipful reverence is directed.

It is also worth noting that most people employ a much broader definition of the term religion than the one provided above. We think of a religion as a system of beliefs, usually beliefs that cannot be verified by normal experience, that has been handed down from generation to generation since time immemorial. Religion involves ritual, faith, and an ethical code of conduct and morality. We identify ourselves as members of a religion by holding certain convictions about the universe and our place in it, about the purpose and meaning of life. As Ven. Dr. K. Sri Dhammananda Nayake Thera once stated in a talk on world religions: “religion may be defined in a very broad sense as a body of moral and philosophical teachings and the acceptance with confidence of such teachings,” adding, “In this sense, Buddhism is a religion”.

In view of the foregoing, the words of Brad Warner, a Western monk in the Soto Zen tradition, might seem odd: “Buddhism is not a religion”. The late (and decidedly occidental) Theravadan monk Ven. Narada Thera apparently agreed: “Buddhism cannot…strictly be called a religion because it is neither a system of faith and worship, nor "the outward act or form by which men indicate their recognition of the existence of a God or gods having power over their own destiny to whom obedience, service, and honor are due."” Even the Dalai Lama, the face of Buddhism for much of the world, had this to say in a conversation with the late astronomer Carl Sagan: “Buddhism is not so much a religion, but a ‘science of the mind’ or an ‘inner science’” (Rice). These men are not alone in this claim. Stop by your local Barnes and Noble, head to the Eastern Religions section, behold a large sampling of the myriad modern books on Buddhism, pick one at random off the shelf, and you are extremely likely to find in it the contention that Buddhism is not a religion.

In the late nineteenth century both John Stuart Mill and T. H. Huxley expressed an interest in Buddhist philosophy and played up its nontheistic aspects, contrasting this self-directed philosophy of the mind with what they saw as the unquestioning dogmatism of Western religion (Rajapakse 295). But the concept of Buddhism as expressly non-religious appears to have gathered momentum sometime around the middle of the twentieth century, when the Buddha’s teachings (and their modern interpretations) began to gain a real foothold in the West. For skeptical Westerners—fed-up, unsatisfied, and perhaps bored with Judeo-Christian mythology and dogma—the idea of an Eastern religion that wasn’t really a religion held tremendous appeal. This is still the case today. But is it realistic, or just wishful thinking on the part of spiritually-hungry intellectuals and noncomformists who yearn for the comfort and mystique that religion provides without the faith and regulation that usually make up the price of admission?

Before we examine the case made by the ‘Buddhism is not a religion’ camp (the members of which will be hereafter referred to as BINARs), a bit of background information would be helpful. The words of the respected Zen teacher Yasutani-roshi will suffice:

We start with Buddha Shakyamuni [Siddhartha Gautama]. As I think you all know, he began with the path of asceticism, undergoing tortures and austerities which others before him had never attempted….But he failed to attain enlightenment by these means and, half-dead from hunger and exhaustion, came to realize the futility of pursuing a course which would only terminate in death. So he…gradually regained his health, and resolved to steer a middle course between self-torture and self-indulgence. Thereafter he devoted himself exclusively to zazen [the Japanese transliteration of the Sanskrit term dhyana, usually rendered meditation] for six years and eventually, on the morning of the eighth of December…he attained perfect enlightenment. All this we believe as historical truth. (Three Pillars 31)

These statements are not generally disputed by BINARs, but the orthodox views on the circumstances surrounding this man’s life and the nature of his enlightenment and teaching most definitely are.

Stephen Batchelor, a Zen teacher who spent years studying the Tibetan Buddhist
tradition in Dharamsala, India, has this to say about the Buddha:


When asked what he was doing, the Buddha replied that he taught “anguish and the ending of anguish.” When asked about metaphysics…he remained silent. He said the dharma was permeated by a single taste: freedom. He made no claims to uniqueness or divinity and did not have recourse to a term we would translate as “God.”…Before he died he refused to appoint a successor, remarking that people should be
responsible for their own freedom. Dharma [the teachings of the Buddha] practice would suffice as their guide. This existential, therapeutic, and liberating agnosticism was articulated in the language of Gautama’s place and time: the dynamic cultures of the Gangetic basin in the sixth century B.C.E. (Buddhism Without Beliefs 15)

Batchelor’s view is typical of those who believe that Buddhism need not be
religious, indeed, that true Buddhist practice is not. For BINARs, the indisputably
religious aspects of popular Buddhist practice—offering prayers to supernatural Buddhas, saints, or deities; performing rituals with clearly magical connotations; doing obeisance to idols; and the like—are nothing more than cultural accretions, vividly symbolic gestures or outright primitive heresies that have attached themselves to the pure teachings of the Buddha as these have traveled from place to place. BINARs typically contend that the real aim of Buddhism is direct perception of reality as it is, without perceptual filters. As Brad Warner asserts in Harcore Zen: “Buddha never asked his followers to accept what he said just because he said it….He taught a method by which the individual could experience the truth directly” (13). This view seems to be confirmed by Shunryu Suzuki, a Japanese teacher who did much to stoke the fires of Buddhism in the west during the 1960s: “Walking, standing, sitting, and lying down are the four activities or ways of behavior in Buddhism….Because Buddha was the founder of the teaching, people tentatively called his teaching “Buddhism,” but actually Buddhism is not some particular teaching. Buddhism is just Truth” (Zen Mind 125). The Tibetan teacher Khandro Rinpoche echoes this sentiment: “awareness, selflessness, and genuine compassion. This is what we mean by a Buddhist view. It is not really about Buddhism but about truth” (146).

Tellingly, none of the teachers quoted in the previous paragraphs have seen fit to entirely disregard the ritualistic, religious aspects or beliefs of their particular sects. Though Brad Warner has written extensive arguments rejecting belief in reincarnation and supernatural realms, he continues to perform religious ceremonies peculiar to the Soto Zen tradition, making sure to downplay their importance and meaning, poking fun at every available opportunity. Shunryu Suzuki made moment-by-moment awareness and “just sitting” the focal points of his teaching in the United States, but he never rejected ritual or ceremony. To the contrary, in a dialogue with a student who was concerned about making ceremonial vows that the student saw as empty and meaningless, Suzuki had this to say: “It doesn’t make any sense. I agree with you. But still we do it….You know, we priests always put our palms together and bow when we meet….When I was young I didn’t like it at all. I felt as if I was fooling myself, and I didn’t feel so good. But as I had to do it, I did it, that’s all” (Discussion). According to her personal website, Khandro Rinpoche was recognized at the age of two as the reincarnation of the Dakini Khandro Ugyen Tsomo. Dakini is a Sanskrit term that refers to a particular class of goddess in Tibetan Buddhism.

Of course, many Buddhists—we could safely say a majority—do not agree with the liberal, elastic views espoused by BINARs. The Rochester Zen Center’s renowned founder Philip Kapleau had this to say about his tradition in the hugely popular The Three Pillars of Zen: “as a Buddhist Way of liberation Zen is most assuredly a religion….At its profoundest level Zen, like every other great religion, transcends its own teachings and practices, yet at the same time there is no Zen apart from these practices” (xv). The official website of the Drepung Loseling Institute, Practice and Culture Center for Tibetan Buddhist Studies (affiliated with the Vajrayana Monastery of Drepung Loseling), notes:

Like all major religions Buddhism contains an explanation of the origin of existence, a morality, and a specific set of rituals and behaviors. However, as generally Buddhists do not ascribe to the belief in a sentient, all-pervasive Creator, some claim that Buddhism fails to be a religion. However, this reflects both an extremely narrow definition of religion and fails to consider what Buddhists would regard as the “nature of god,” which is extremely close to the description of God offered by many of the earlier “Fathers” of Christianity. Nevertheless, like the other major
religions, Buddhism presents a transformational goal, a desire to improve
one’s situation, and a distinct moral code.

The Theravadan monk-scholar Bhikkhu Bodhi, a staunch advocate of Buddhist orthodoxy, presents a clear challenge that must be addressed by anyone who would claim that Buddhism is not a religion:

It is not only theistic religions that teach doctrines beyond the range of immediate empirical confirmation. The Buddha too taught doctrines that an ordinary person cannot directly confirm by everyday experience, and these doctrines are fundamental to the structure of his teaching….we are likely to resist such beliefs and feel that they make excessive demands on our capacity for trust. Thus we inevitably run up against the question whether, if we wish to follow the Buddha’s teaching, we must take on board the entire package of classical Buddhist doctrine. (In the Buddha’s Words 82)

BINARs tend to dance around these issues. It seems evident that a Buddhist system completely independent of supernatural belief and ritualistic structure never existed at all prior to the mid-twentieth century efforts of primarily Western BINARs, and that includes the day of the historical Buddha himself. Anyone who bothers to read the classical Buddhist sutras will come across innumerable references to gods, demons, and ghosts; alternate universes existing concurrently with ours; and a fanciful cosmology based on the ancient Vedic model. One encounters myriads of Buddhas, arising throughout space and time to teach the Dharma, spending eons undergoing various hardships in a variety of rebirths before attaining enlightenment. There are countless jataka tales, stories of the historical Buddha’s past lives as animals, men, women, and gods, many of which involve the unlucky but always virtuous saint sacrificing his head, limbs, or entire body for the sake of others. There are prescriptions for moral behavior and ritual worship accompanied by grave threats for those who would contravene them—damnation to millions upon millions of years in horrific hells that make Dante’s Inferno seem rather tame by comparison (of course, in spite of the incomprehensibly severe tortures, one always gets out of a Buddhist hell once one’s bad karma is exhausted, which is more than the denizens of the Christian Hell can hope for). Conversely for the obedient, there are ages upon ages to be enjoyed in various heavenly realms wherein every physical desire is satisfied, and even formless realms in which no body is possessed—just varying states of meditative absorption that eventually come to an end, plunging the karmic traveler once again into the endless cycle of rebirth.

BINARs dismiss these myths and frequently invoke a short discourse of the Buddha commonly referred to as the Kalama Sutra. In this sutra, the Kalamas, inhabitants of a remote Indian town, are visited by the wandering sage himself. They tell him that various holy men and ascetics frequently drop in on them, all preaching different doctrines. How are they to distinguish between them? The Buddha offers the following response:

It is fitting for you to be perplexed, O Kalamas, it is fitting for you to be in doubt….Do not go by oral tradition, by lineage of teaching, by hearsay, by a collection of texts, by logic, by inferential reasoning, by reasoned cogitation, by the acceptance of a view after pondering it, by the seeming competence of a speaker, or because you think, ‘The ascetic is our teacher.’ But when you know for yourselves, ‘These things are unwholesome; these things are blamable; these things are censured by the wise; these things, if undertaken and practiced, lead to harm and
suffering,’ then you should abandon them. (In the Buddha’s Words 89)

This injunction appears to place moral responsibility squarely on the individual and his or her empirical observation, but the orthodox have a catch. In the words of Bhikkhu Bodhi (who employs the Pali spelling of Buddhist terms): “The fact that such texts…do not dwell on the doctrines of kamma and rebirth does not mean…that such teachings…can be deleted or explained away without losing anything essential. It means only that, at the outset, the Dhamma can be approached in ways that do not require reference to past and future lives” (In the Buddha’s Words 83). Of the Buddhist teachers I have encountered and spoken with, this is by far the prevailing view.

It is interesting to note at this point that plenty of people claim one can take the best parts of a religion and apply them to one’s life without actually practicing the religion. Similarly, a large number of Christians, Jews, and Muslims in modern times are content to attend religious services, recognize and celebrate certain holy days, maintain religious traditions, and identify themselves as members of a specific faith while eschewing attitudes and actions that they feel are remnants of a more primitive past. But there doesn’t appear to be a contingent of people claiming that Christianity or Judaism or Islam aren’t religions. Why do so many Buddhists attach to this claim?

The answer seems to be twofold. First, there is the matter of wishful thinking, mentioned at the outset of this paper. Spiritual longing, a search for meaning and purpose in existence, seems to be innate to humans. This desire has not lessened as our methods of inquiry have grown more sophisticated and our storehouses of knowledge have expanded. The very presence of the universe and our appearance in it is still deeply mysterious to us. Why are we here? What should we do while we are alive? Could it be that we really cease to exist when we die? However comfortable we get with the idea that there are no answers to be had to these questions, the questions themselves do not go away. We want to be happy, to live good lives, to find satisfaction and fulfillment. At the same time, we find the primitive beliefs (and the savage actions that often result from holding them) of our ancestors unacceptable. No, we will not credulously accept the myths of antiquity, however much comfort they hold. But could there be a way out of this conundrum? A philosophy from the mystic East, the product of an advanced culture of the mind, something we can do that doesn’t require us to believe in superstitious nonsense but that gives us hope of improving ourselves, of somehow bettering—perhaps even saving—our world...this is the great appeal of non-religious Buddhism. It is an appeal that seems unlikely to diminish anytime soon. BINARs are fond of saying that Buddhism involves giving up attachment to all things, including Buddhism. Perhaps this malleable religion/non-religious philosophy could indeed end up as a sort of intellectual world-religion, as its proponents so often predict.

Second, it must be admitted that Buddhist philosophy itself does contain some unique aspects that appear to provide would-be BINARs with a loophole out of religious life. The Buddha’s awakening was said to be a matter of concentrated meditation on reality rather than ceremony or ritual—this was the very mark that initially distinguished his path from those of contemporary yogins and sages. Many of the words purported to be those of the Buddha do indeed seem to indicate that each individual must work out salvation for him or herself and that this can only be accomplished by following the Buddha’s example of maintaining meditative absorption. His injunctions against blind faith and acceptance of authority, however contradictory to other recorded statements, did provide the ground on which early Chinese Buddhists masters and eccentric Tantric practitioners of the Himalayas would later build their arguments against certain aspects of religious structure, and on which modern day BINARs build their even more radical arguments, sometimes against all religious structure.

Irrespective of scholarly debate, the fact remains that, for millions of people worldwide, Buddhism is indeed their religion. They offer food and incense to images of the Buddha, hoping for propitious circumstances in this life and in a life they believe is to come. They pray to saintly bodhisattvas for the welfare of their family members, both living and deceased. They meditate for hours on elaborate symbolic visualizations in an effort to bring peace to the world. They wall themselves up in caves, determined to emerge only after they have gained an understanding of unadorned reality. They cast statues in plaster to atone for past misdeeds. They believe in ghosts, demons, gods, and magic. They have faith.
As the renowned Buddhist scholar Donald S. Lopez, Jr. states in The Story of Buddhism: “Rather than portray Buddhism as a philosophy or a way of life, as it is so often characterized in the West, I prefer to view Buddhism as a religion to which ordinary people have turned over the centuries for the means to confront, control, or even escape the exigencies of life” (14). This, at least for now, is Buddhism, for better or for worse.


Works Cited
Batchelor, Stephen. Buddhism Without Beliefs: A Contemporary Guide to Awakening.
New York: Riverhead Books-The Berkley Publishing Group, 1997.

“Biography.” The Official Website of the Venerable Jetsun Khandro Rinpoche.

Mindrolling International, 2007. 23 Dec. 2007. biography.cfm>.

Bodhi, Bhikkhu. “Buddhism Comes to the West.” 2 July 2000. Buddhanet.net. 2007. 20
Dec. 2007. .

Bodhi, Bhikkhu. In the Buddha’s Words: An Anthology of Discourses from the Pali
Pali Canon. Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2005.

“Discussion with Suzuki Roshi.” Berkeley Zen Center Newsletter, July 2000. BZC.com.
9 July 2000. 23 Dec. 2007. july2000.shtml>.

Gyatso, Tenzin. Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech. The Nobel Foundation. University
Aula, Oslo, 10 Dec. 1989. Tibetan Government in Exile’s Official Web Site.
20 Dec. 2007. .

“Is Buddhism a Religion?” Drepung Loseling Institute Center for Tibetan Studies
Website. 2007. 23 Dec. 2007. 2.cfm>.

Kapleau, Philip. The Three Pillars of Zen: Teaching, Practice, and Enlightenment.
1965. 25thAnniversary ed. New York: Anchor Books-Doubleday, 1989.

Lopez, Donald S. The Story of Buddhism: A Concise Guide to Its History and Teachings.
New York: HarperCollins, 2001.

Rajapakse, Vijitha. “Buddhism in Huxley’s “Evolution and Ethics:” A Note on a
Victorian Evaluation and Its “Comparativist Dimension”. Philosophy East and
West. Vol. 35, No. 3. Jul. 1985. 295-304. JSTOR. 20 Dec. 2007. links.jstor.org/
sici?sici=00318221%28198507%2935%3A3%3C295%3ABIH%22AE%3E2.0.CO%3B2-W >.

Rinpoche, Khandro. This Precious Life: Tibetan Buddhist Teachings on the Path to
Enlightenment. Boston: Shambhala, 2003.

"religion noun." The Oxford Dictionary of English (revised edition). Ed. Catherine
Soanes and Angus Stevenson. Oxford University Press, 2005. Oxford Reference
Online. Oxford University Press. SUNY Empire State College. 20 December 2007.
Main&entry=t140.e65078>.

Rice, Melissa. “Carl Sagan and the Dalai Lama found deep connections in 1991-92
meetings, says Sagan’s widow.” 3 Oct. 2007. Chronicle Online: Daily News from
Cornell University. 19 Dec. 2007. Sagan.Dalai.cover.MR.html>.

Suzuki, Shunryu. Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind. Ed. Trudy Dixon. New York: Weatherhill,
2001.

Thera, Nayake. Buddhism as a Religion. Kuala Lumpur: Sasana Abhiwurdhi Wardhana
Society, 1994.

Thera, Narada. “Buddhism in a Nutshell.” Buddhist Publication Society: 1982.
Buddhanet.net. 2007. 19 Dec. 2007. .

Warner, Brad. Hardcore Zen: Punk Rock, Monster Movies and the Truth About Reality.
Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2003.

Warner. Brad. “The End of Science?” Sit Down and Shut Up: A Buddhist Website. 19
Dec. 2007. .

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

The Problem of Evil

Philosophy of Religion: An Anthology
Part III


Solomon Blaylock

PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION
Dr. Timothy Madigan
14 October 2007



It is interesting to note that the question of why bad things happen to good people appears to drive more individuals to religions than away from them. Indeed, a great deal of the appeal that religions possess stems from their claims to have concrete answers for just this kind of intractable problem. The idea that all of the painful events that overtake us are part of a bigger plan, contributing to a good with a scope larger than we can easily comprehend, is comforting. But is it true?
In Gottfried Leibniz’s “The Theodicy: Abridgement of the Argument Reduced to Syllogistic Form,” the author addresses the assertion that god is somehow shown lacking by the presence of evil in the world. He states the goal of his refutation thusly:

To overthrow this objection, therefore, it is sufficient to show that
a worldwith evil might be better than a world without evil; but I have gone even
farther, in the work, and have even proved that this universe must be in
reality better than every other possible universe. (147)


Forty-nine years after the appearance of “The Theodicy,” Voltaire’s Candide was published. In the first chapter, the tone for the story is set by the words of Pangloss, the young Candide’s tutor, as he argues that our world is the “best of all possible worlds” (16). Leibniz is clearly satirized:

It is demonstrated…that things cannot be otherwise, for, everything being
made for an end, everything is necessarily for the best end. Note that noses were made to wear spectacles, and so we have spectacles. Legs were visibly instituted to be breeched, and we have breeches. . . . consequently, those who have asserted that all is well have said a foolish thing; they should have said that all is for the best. (16)


Those who would defend the ways of god to man accept a heavy burden; one that requires a curious mixture of reason and faith. For Leibniz, insofar as his views can be ascertained from the brief selection in this study’s core text, the existence of god is not in question; god’s attributes and the quality of his work, however, are up for some debate. For those inclined towards optimism, there is something attractive about Leibniz’s reasoning, but ultimately it seems flawed by a kind of naiveté. It is obvious to him that god exists, but it is also obvious that there is evil in the world. Therefore the evil must be just the right amount to suit god’s purposes, and in fact the existence of this evil is integral to those purposes, which lead to a universal good so overwhelming that the evils are trivial in comparison. This is all reasoning in reverse of course, and, to be sure, such tactics can be instructive, but when the very premises of the argument are as shaky as these (there is a creator deity who created the entire physical universe, all activities are part of a divine purpose, et al), it does not seem at all an appropriate tack.
It is Liebniz’s contention, “following many good authors, that it was in accordance with order and the general good that God allowed to certain creatures the opportunity of exercising their liberty, even when he foresaw that they would turn to evil, but which he could so well rectify…” (147). The concept of free will thus makes its appearance in the text, and it has proven essential to theists who would defend their god against the argument from evil. It strikes me as a very weak position, mainly because of the back-and-forth regarding god’s power. Is he/she/it omnipotent or not? It is posited that god has the power to bring about the formation of the universe and all of its inhabitants (presumably from nothing—but even if we leave aside creatio ex nihilo we are talking about a power so great that it has no corollary in our experience), but this almighty creator is incapable of, or unwilling to, bring its children to a state of moral maturity and eternal bliss in the absence of genocide and birth defects.

And speaking of the afflictions of the young and innocent, Leibniz makes the following concession:

I believe that God always gives sufficient aid and grace to those who have a good will, that is, to those who do not reject his grace by new sin. Thus, I do not admit the damnation of infants who have died without baptism or outside of the church; nor the damnation of adults who have acted according to the light which God has given them. (150)


On the surface this appears almost warm and fuzzy, but what it leaves unsaid is truly disturbing. 1 John 4:8 says that “God is love,” but evidently that love is highly conditional. Yes, god tortures some individuals eternally in flame, but he graciously makes an exception for recently deceased, unbaptized infants—though not all religionists would agree with the philosopher on this point. I wonder what Leibniz would say about god’s benevolence toward infants if he had the opportunity to see a Harlequin fetus. To believe that such an abomination is part of a grand, divine plan seems hopelessly deluded, and demonstrates the deranged way of thinking that religious thought foments.

The argument that Leibniz makes in god’s defense can be summed up in one sentence: “We judge from the event itself; since God has made it, it was not possible to do better” (151). Rather than affectionate trust, this position strikes me as one of desperate, clinging credulity.


At this point we revisit David Hume’s Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, which, though not necessarily uplifting in tone, feels like a breath of fresh air from the
realm of reality. The argument from evil is stated here elegantly and at length, but two major points stand out to me as particularly forceful.

The first comes from the lips of Demea: “A perpetual war is kindled amongst all living creatures. Necessity, hunger, want stimulate the strong and courageous; fear, anxiety, terror agitate the weak and infirm” (142). Yes, there are many struggles that attend human existence from which we may derive perspective, and perhaps even moral maturity. Who would contend, however, that the unrelenting warfare that takes place on a microscopic level in our world serves any such purpose? Our immune systems work without letup to destroy a ceaseless stream of intruders that threaten our very existence. On this plain, life is truly a kill-or-be-killed struggle, as it is for most members of the animal kingdom, whether they prowl in search of a being weak enough to subdue or tremble in dread of attack while foraging for vegetation and water. The god who would orchestrate this parade of unceasing violence and horror in the interest of some common good would seem to be severely lacking in ingenuity and goodwill.

The second major item of interest in Hume’s dialogue is stated in the words of Philo, echoing those of Epicurus:

Why is there any misery at all in the world? Not by chance, surely. From
some cause then. Is it the intention of the Deity? But he is perfectly benevolent. Is it contrary to his intention? But he is almighty. Nothing can shake the solidity of this reasoning, so short, so clear, so decisive, except we assert that these subjects exceed all human capacity, and that our common measures of truth and falsehood are not applicable to them…(145)


Of course, asserting that “these subjects exceed all human capacity” is just what many religious philosophers do, with varying degrees of subtlety. In so doing, however, they simply dodge the fundamental question of why misery must exist at all. If there is a god who created the universe and put its laws in place, then he is the originator of the very concepts of good and evil. To create humans with the capacity to choose between the two, the two must exist. To say that god could only make the really best good by throwing in some evil is absurd. Why would not god, as the creator of the concept, simply create the really best good as the one that involved no evil?

That is the question I’d like to ask of John Hick. In his Evil and the God of Love, Hick addresses the problem of evil from the perspective of the Irenaean tradition, which holds that god’s creation of mankind is not yet complete. Humans begin life as “relatively free and autonomous persons,” who, “through their own dealings with life in the world in which [God] has placed them,” move “towards that quality of personal existence that is the finite likeness of God” (152). There is much to recommend Hick to the modern believer, with his warmth and acceptance of evolution. He speaks of a god who lovingly and unhurriedly leads his children along a path that, with all of its ups and downs, ultimately ends in perfection. This he calls “soul-making” (155). Much is made of the moral importance of soul-making in Hick’s argument, and he asserts that the value of our world “is to be judged, not primarily by the quantity of pleasure and pain occurring in it at any particular moment, but by its fitness for its primary purpose, the purpose of soul-making” (155). Alas, we are once again confronted with dogma based on weak premises.
Invoking the relationship of a parent and child makes for a nice analogy, but does it hold up to scrutiny? True, “a parent who loves his children, and wants them to become
the best human beings that they are capable of becoming, does not treat pleasure as the sole and supreme value,” but must a parent allow his children to be hit by automobiles in order to impress upon them the need for caution near traffic (154)? Must humans really experience unending genocide, warfare, torture, starvation, rapine, and more, simply to shore up their souls? At any rate, it is god himself who has brought about the problematic situation confronting his human children, if we are to believe Hick, so it is hard to see him as especially gentle or fatherly.

John Hick at least appears to be sincere—to be looking for a way to make sense of things—which is more than I can say for Alvin Plantinga. No doubt there are those who find the dense, circuitous arguments in Plantinga’s God, Freedom, and Evil impressive, and the complexity of his thought is astounding, at least for someone such as myself, with no training in formal logic. Nevertheless, in page after page of labyrinthine reasoning, Plantinga manages to prove nothing of practical import, except, possibly, that there is no explicit contradiction in the three propositions that: 1) God is omnipotent, 2) God is wholly good, and 3) Evil exists. It would be easy to criticize Plantinga as pontifical, but I am willing to accept the possibility that I am intellectually ill-equipped to grasp his argument in all its subtlety. Like so many philosophers, though, he does appear to be wielding the sword of logic in a desperate attempt to defend a dearly-held belief, rather than to tear the veil of illusion from unadulterated reality. There is much in Plantinga’s writing that is asinine, and his analogies are fatuous to the point of insult:

Let’s suppose that E is Paul’s suffering from a minor abrasion and G
is your being deliriously happy. The conjunctive state of affairs, G and E—the state of affairs that obtains if and only if both G and E obtain—is then a good state of affairs: it is better, all else being equal, that you be intensely happy and Paul suffer a mildly annoying abrasion than that this state of affairs not obtain. (173)


Let us substitute an African child undergoing a clitoridectomy for E and the rotten core of this reasoning is exposed. An argument that Plantinga and, apparently, many of his disciples consider particularly forceful is that certain kinds of good—for instance, heroism and compassion—cannot exist without evil. I, for one, would be happy to live in a world without the heroic acts of policemen and firefighters, were there no massive disasters to precipitate them. In this, perhaps I expose my limited, human reasoning in contrast to god’s.

In the passage from Hume earlier referenced, Philo makes this claim: “None but we mystics, as you were pleased to call us, can account for this strange mixture of phenomena, by deriving it from attributes infinitely perfect but incomprehensible.” Thus it seems that theodicy fails in its stated purpose of ‘justifying the ways of god before humankind.’ Reason alone is not equal to the task. Faith, whether we regard it as a virtue or a vice, is shown to be indispensable to the theistic view.


Works Cited

Holy Bible: The New King James Version. Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1982.

Hick, John. “Evil and the God of Love.” Harper & Row: 1997. Rpt. in Philosophy
of Religion: An Anthology. Ed. Louis P. Pojman. Belmont: Wadsworth/Thompson Learning, 2003. 152-156.

Hume, David. “Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.” London: Longmans Green,
1878. Rpt. in Philosophy of Religion: An Anthology. Ed. Louis P. Pojman. Belmont: Wadsworth/Thompson Learning, 2003. 141-146.

Leibniz, Gottfried. “The Theodicy: Abridgement of the Argument Reduced to Syllogistic
Form.” 1710. Rpt. in Philosophy of Religion: An Anthology. Ed. Louis P. Pojman. Belmont: Wadsworth/Thompson Learning, 2003. 146-51.

Plantinga, Alvin. “God, Freedom, and Evil.” Harper & Row: 1974. Rpt. in Philosophy of
Religion: An Anthology. Ed. Louis P. Pojman. Belmont: Wadsworth/Thompson Learning, 2003. 168-186.

Voltaire. “Candide.” Candide, Zadig and Selected Stories. Trans. Donald M. Frame.
New York: Penguin, 1981.

Monday, July 16, 2007

Questioning Our Assumptions About the Inquisition

In 1970, the British comedy troupe Monty Python performed a sketch entitled “Spanish Inquisition” in which scarlet robed inquisitors abducted unsuspecting householders, subjecting them to a series of ordeals such as gentle prodding with cushions and being seated in ‘the comfy chair.’ The sketch derived much of its humor from the fact that the ‘ordeals’ were so absurdly at odds with those that the public at large associates with the Inquisition. For many, perhaps most of us, the name of the Inquisition is synonymous with torments, religious intolerance, and political oppression. It is the Inquisition of Poe’s The Pit and the Pendulum, with its “monkish ingenuity in torture,” casting a shadow across medieval Europe with “a thousand vague rumors of the horrors of Toledo” (436—440). Few of us think to question our notions about the Inquisition any more than we would think to doubt the Holocaust or the terrors of the Cambodian Killing Fields. It might come as a surprise, then, to learn that, according to a textbook on Western civilization, “Many historians conclude that the Inquisition was not particularly harsh” (Hunt et al. 393). It seems almost incredible that, as Edward Peters asserts in Inquisition:
There was never, except in polemic and fiction, The Inquisition, a single all-powerful, horrific tribunal, whose agents worked everywhere to thwart religious truth, intellectual freedom, and political liberty, until it was overthrown sometime in the nineteenth century—The Inquisition of modern folklore. (3)


Just what was the Inquisition? Was it a judicial system administered by a nobly intentioned and falsely maligned group of clerics working to maintain peace and order in European society, or an instrument of oppression ruthlessly employed by cruel and power-hungry zealots? What role did torture play in the proceedings? In short, was it as bad as we tend to believe it was? We will explore these questions in the next few pages.

‘The Inquisition’ is frequently used as an umbrella term for the various methods utilized by the Catholic Church in counteracting the influence of heterodox religious movements from the twelfth century to as late as the twentieth. Before proceeding further, it might be helpful to enumerate a few of the major milestones in the development of these methods. The Inquisition’s formal genesis is usually said to have occurred in 1184, when Pope Lucius III issued a decree, Ad abolendam, condemning heretical sects and outlining how their members were to be dealt with. Local clerics were to sniff out the infidels in their midst, and after determining their guilt, excommunicate and hand them over to the secular authorities for punishment (Harris 83; Peters 47). Fifteen years later an important development came in the form of a bull from Pope Innocent III, Vergentis in senium, which identified heresy with treason and called for the confiscation of heretics’ goods and property. The judicial powers of church officials were expanded, and children of heretics were condemned to perpetual depravation (Harris 84; Peters 48). Pope Gregory IX began what is commonly called the Medieval Inquisition in 1231 with the letter Ille humani generis. In it the Pope commissions a traveling judge to roam the land in search of heretics, giving him the power to appoint other Inquisitors. Another bull issued the same year, Excommunicamus, made the death penalty mandatory for unrepentant heretics (Peters 56). In 1252 Pope Innocent IV issued the decretal Ad Extirpanda, which, in veiled language, sanctioned the use of torture in extracting confessions from those suspected of heresy (Renaker). Finally, in the year 1478, at the request of Queen Isabella of Castile and King Ferdinand of Aragon, Pope Sixtus IV established what is now known as the Spanish Inquisition, which would survive in some form until the early nineteenth century (Peters 85).

This is by no means an exhaustive list. Inquisitorial procedure had its roots in pre-Christian Roman law, and Inquisitions were established in many different countries (both in Europe and the Americas) over the centuries. These papal orders and the undertakings of those acting upon them, however, do constitute a basic framework of what is commonly meant by the term ‘Inquisition.’

According to Father Ronald Knox, in his introduction to A. L. Maycock’s The Inquisition:
It is impossible….to read ourselves back into the atmosphere of a Catholic State….We do not realize how intimately, in such a community, the interests of religion are bound up with those of public morality and of social order; how natural (and, we may add, how just) is the suspicion that a secret sect which attacks the truths of revealed theology attacks also the moral presuppositions of the whole community. This consideration applies particularly to the mediaeval heresies, which the Inquisition was primarily designed to combat….The mediaeval Inquisitors, then, were combating a social, not merely a theological danger. (xiii—xiv)


Knox’s comments set the tone for Maycock’s book, which argues that the Middle Ages, guided by the Inquisition, were times of rational debate and Christian reason rather than of intellectual intolerance and cruelty motivated by superstition (Maycock 250—251). The bias with which The Inquisition approaches its titular subject is tangible, but perhaps no less so than that of Sam Harris’ bestseller The End of Faith, which refers to the Inquisition as one of the two “darkest episodes in the history of faith” (79). He identifies the other episode, incidentally, as the Holocaust. At first blush, Edward Peters’ Inquisition, with its unrelenting and vehement refutation of “the myth of The Inquisition,” appears to take the tack of the former work. On closer consideration, however, Peters’ dedication to uncovering historical truth in spite of popular prejudice seems evident. We will, therefore, in this paper, treat his book as an objective middle ground between the works of what might be termed ‘Inquisition apologists’ (who appear to come almost exclusively from within the ranks of the Catholic Church) and those who accept commonly held views on the Inquisition out of hand.

Chief among popular notions about the inquisition is that of the all-pervasive use of the cruelest tortures, mercilessly applied to suspected heretics, irrespective of evidence. The fact that torture was employed by Inquisitors as a means of extracting confessions is not in question. To what degree, though, was it employed, and how did its use by the Church compare with contemporary judicial practice? Harris describes what sort of treatment one could expect when denying the charge of heresy before an Inquisitorial tribunal:
In response, your jailers will be happy to lead you to the furthest reaches of human suffering, before burning you at the stake. You may be imprisoned in total darkness for months or years at a time, repeatedly beaten and starved, or stretched upon the rack….You may be hoisted to the ceiling on a strappado (with your arms bound behind your back and attached to a pulley, and weights tied to your feet), dislocating your shoulders….Or you may be bound to a bench, with a cauldron filled with mice placed upside-down upon your bare abdomen. With the requisite application of heat to the iron, the mice will begin to burrow into your belly in search of an exit. (81)


Such writing makes for good horror, but is it historically accurate? It is difficult to say with any certainty. The few official records of the Inquisition available to us today barely mention torture, but as Maycock points out, this is hardly surprising: “The forced confession had no legal significance…the official confession was not made in the torture-chamber, but after the completion of the torture. Thus, by a quibble, it was recorded as having been entirely free and spontaneous” (161). He goes on to say that the Inquisition seems to have employed the same methods of torture that contemporary secular courts did; chief among them were the water torture, the rack, and the aforementioned strappado (162). Peters agrees with Maycock that the use of these methods was generally circumspect:
“The procedure of torture itself was guarded by a number of protocols and protections for the defendant, and its place in due process was rigorously defined by the jurists….In this light, far more of the procedure of the inquisition was consistent with contemporary legal values and procedures than might at first appear” (Peters 65).


Both authors go on to argue that the use of torture by secular European courts during the period of the Inquisition (save in England) was not only more common, but also considerably more harsh—even in the case of the especially infamous Spanish Inquisition (Maycock 158—159, Peters 92). Be that as it may, there were dissenting voices, though objections from within the Church seem to have focused more on the efficacy of such practices rather than their humanity (Maycock 161).

The image of the Inquisitorial torture chamber is firmly implanted in the minds of the general public; perhaps no less so is that of the auto-da-fé, the public event at which the sentencing and execution of convicted heretics took place. We imagine throngs of frenzied peasants screaming for blood and solemn clerics watching with steely eyes as the condemned slowly roast on stakes. This does not appear to be an inaccurate picture, in spite of what Peters has to say:
“The inquisitors [could not] sentence anyone to death. When faced with a convicted heretic who refused to recant, or who relapsed into heresy, the inquisitors were to turn him over to the temporal authorities—the “secular arm”—for…the punishment decreed by local law, usually burning to death” (67).


This seems like a strange, self-contradictory assertion, and even Maycock takes issue with this sort of reasoning:
It was laid down by more than one canonist that failure on the part of the State to enforce the full penalty within five days of condemnation by the Holy Office should render the officials concerned liable to censure. Theoretically the Inquisitors had no share in the infliction of the death penalty. But they knew as well as everybody else that abandonment to the secular arm meant certain death at the stake. (173)


So there is no argument that such spectacles took place, but there is debate about just how frequently they took place. Accurate statistics are hard to come by, but they are available. The Liber sententiarum, a register kept by the medieval inquisitor Bernard Gui, is the largest surviving record of its kind, detailing the sentences of more than 600 individuals accused of heresy between the years of 1308 and 1323 (Given 209—210). James Given, Professor of History at the University of California at Irvine, has performed a quantitative analysis of the register hitherto unparalleled in its thoroughness, and his conclusions provide us with some insight into the sentencing practices of medieval Inquisitors and how they compared with those of secular courts at the time. Of the 633 penalties inflicted by Gui, almost half were in the form of prison sentences, and the majority of these were for life (Given 216). Prison sentences varied in severity. One might serve out one’s term with relative freedom of movement, albeit in a jail that was “dirty, ill-ventilated and sometimes altogether unfit for human habitation” (Maycock 187). An especially harsh form of imprisonment involved solitary confinement, often in the dark, the prisoner chained and manacled to the wall, his sustenance provided by a diet of bread and water (Given 218; Maycock 186). More than a fifth of the guilty were condemned to wear yellow cloth crosses on the fronts and backs of their garments; a form of punishment considered particularly humiliating at the time (Given 214).

Interestingly, only 6.5% of the condemned were burned alive. Forty-one people in 15 years seems like a relatively small number, but as Given points out, “No modern European or North American court imposes death sentences with anything approaching this frequency” (219). He continues, however:
One may object that the early fourteenth century employed a different standard in handing out punishment. Unfortunately, this is a very difficult proposition to evaluate. Some courts were indeed much harsher than those of Gui and his colleagues. This seems to have been especially true of the royal courts of northwestern Europe. Between 1389 and 1392, for example, the court of the royal prévôt of Paris, held in the Châtelet, sent more than 30 people a year to their deaths. Gui, by contrast, recorded the executions of only about 2.7 people a year. (219)


The conclusion that Maycock draws from such figures is unsurprising: “It is clear that the mediaeval Inquisition was very far from being the holy holocaust that certain controversialists have sedulously represented it to have been” (173). This statement, while perhaps accurate, is particularly distasteful when we take into account the early days of the Spanish Inquisition with its harsh penalties and overwhelming focus on converted Jews. Stephen Haliczer, in his essay “The First Holocaust: The Inquisition and the Converted Jews of Spain and Portugal,” reports some troubling statistics:
Of the 1,997 persons penanced by the tribunal of Valencia between 1484 and 1530, 909 or 45.5 per cent were given death sentences and of these 754 were actually executed. In some tribunals, the percentage of death sentences was even higher, with the short-lived tribunals of Avila and Guadalupe condemning 58.1 per cent and 82.2 per cent, respectively. (10)


We may safely draw a few conclusions from the information we have considered. The Inqusition, in the many forms it took over the centuries, does seem to have proceeded under the guidance of certain ethical considerations, however insufficient they may strike us in modern times. Torture was most definitely employed, though the evidence indicates that its use was somewhat less harsh than that of contemporary secular authorities. Burning at the stake was common, though perhaps not so common as many of us imagine. While many of us bristle at the idea of a religious organization wielding the power to inflict suffering and death on those that it deemed worthy of such, the secular and ecclesiastical authorities during the time of the Inquisition were indeed more thoroughly intertwined than we in the modern West can relate to. Could it be that we have come round to the attitude of Maycock, as expressed in the last chapter of his book?
The Inquisitors, with all their failings and shortcomings, with all their curious obliquities of vision and with all their startling equivocations, were yet striving for the cause of civilization and progress against the heretical forces of disruption and decay….In our own time the idea that any criminal, however atrocious, should be burnt alive in public is horrible and repulsive. Yet we do well to remember that the humanitarian feeling of the present day is a thing of very recent growth. We must completely dismiss the idea that there was anything abnormal or peculiar in the ferocity with which the mediaeval heretics were punished. (256—259)


I believe that there is something dangerous in such reasoning. We would do well to remember that there are governments still in existence in which temporal and religious authority are one and the same, and that they are known for perpetrating acts of great cruelty and carrying out wanton executions. Even in the United States, held, at least by itself, to be the world’s leader in respect for human rights and separation of church and state, the current administration has asserted the effectiveness and just use of torture in extracting information deemed relevant to national security; openly guided by a fundamentalist Christian worldview. The justifications for such abuses in our day bear a striking resemblance to those used in the days of the Inquisition.

Intellectual integrity requires that we constantly endeavor to deepen our understanding of the subjects we study. Such an examination bears out that the general public does indeed harbor many misconceptions about the scope and severity of the Inquistion. Moral integrity, however, requires that we condemn the atrocities that were carried out, determined that such misguided cruelty must never again be tolerated or excused. This attitude is sadly missing from Edward Peters’ Inquisition. It is, though, clearly evident in Sam Harris’ The End of Faith, however slanted its account of the Inquisition’s proceedings. Harris gives us food for thought when he writes:
The question of how the church managed to transform Jesus’ principal message of loving one’s neighbor and turning the other cheek into a doctrine of murder and rapine seems to promise a harrowing mystery; but it is no mystery at all. Apart from the Bible’s heterogeneity and outright self-contradiction, allowing it to justify diverse and irreconcilable aims, the culprit is clearly the doctrine of faith itself. Whenever a man imagines that he need only believe the truth of a proposition, without evidence—that unbelievers will go to hell, that Jews drink the blood of infants—he becomes capable of anything. (85)


It is chilling to note that Father Ronald Knox makes a similar point in his introduction to Maycock’s book, though he uses it to justify the actions of the Inquisitors: “The faith which is strong enough to make martyrs is strong enough to make persecutors" (xv).

We all have much to fear from such an attitude of unquestioning and unreasoning faith, whether it be in religious dogma or political ideology. To say that the Inquisition was not really so bad as we think it was since commonly held views and standard judicial procedures at the time were so different from ours is like making a similar assertion about slavery. A close consideration of the Inquisition does little to dispel the sense of menace and brutality that surrounds it, and this, it would seem, is as it should be.

Works Cited
Given, James. “A Medieval Inquisitor at Work: Bernard Gui, 3 March 1308 to 19 June
1323.” Portraits of Medieval and Renaissance Living: Essays in Memory of David
David Herlihy. Ed. Samuel K. Cohn Jr. and Steven A. Epstein. Ann Arbor:
The University of Michigan Press, 1996. 209—210.
Haliczer, Stephen. “The First Holocaust: The Inquisition and the Converted Jews of
Spain and Portugal.” Inquisition and Society in Early Modern Europe. Ed. and
Trans. Stephen Haliczer. Totowa, New Jersey: Barnes and Noble, 1987. 10.
Harris, Sam. The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason. New York:
W. W. Norton & Company, 2004.
Hunt, Lynn, et al. The Making of the West: Peoples and Cultures: A Concise History.
Boston/New York: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2007.
Maycock, A. L. The Inquisition. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1927.
Peters, Edward. Inquisition. New York: The Free Press, 1988
Poe, E. A. “The Pit and the Pendulum.” The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan
Poe. New York: Barnes and Noble, 1992. 436-440.
Renaker, David. “Ad Extirpanda of Pope Innocent IV.” On the History of Renaissance
Literature. 2004. 6 July, 2007 <>
Russell, Bertrand. A History of Western Philosophy. New York: Simon & Schuster,
1972.

The Moral Choice of Vegetarianism

According to a poll conducted by Harris Interactive, there were more than 4.7 million vegetarians in the United States in 2006 (Stahler). Chances are, if you’re not a vegetarian yourself, you know someone who is. Vegetarian product choices abound in supermarkets and even small, local groceries. Celebrities frequently appear in ads sponsored by People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) with tag lines like “Value all life: go vegetarian.” In 2002, Burger King, of all places, introduced the meatless BK Veggie Burger, and McDonald’s offers a similar sandwich in many parts of the country. It would seem that vegetarianism is on the rise and that adopting a meat-free diet is a more acceptable, accessible choice than ever.

In reality, however, things are not quite so simple. The strict vegetarian is still viewed as something of an oddball by the carnivorous majority – at best an overanxious liberal, at worst a dangerous and deluded agitator. When informing others of her lifestyle choice, a vegetarian is liable to be met with a condescending smirk, a dismissive roll of the eyes, or a diatribe concerning man’s natural ascendancy over the animals. “Plants are living things too, you know,” comes the common sarcastic rejoinder, “Aren’t you being hypocritical?” Many caring parents have quashed a teenager’s resolve to give up an animal-based diet with a lecture on the health and nutritive benefits of meat products. Could it be they have a point?

I do not believe that they do. I am convinced that choosing a vegetarian diet is a necessity for anyone whose circumstances reasonably allow it and who wants to live a moral life. Furthermore, I am confident that vegetarianism is a healthy choice, and one that has a beneficial impact on our environment. However, given the enormous scope of the matters raised in these statements, I will confine myself in this paper to a discussion of the moral issue.

We would do well to clarify a few terms before proceeding. First, what is a vegetarian diet? There is a fair amount of disagreement about this among vegetarians themselves. Some feel that simply abstaining from meat qualifies one as a vegetarian: others deem it necessary to avoid absolutely all food products derived from animals including milk, cheese, and eggs. The American Heritage Dictionary defines a vegetarian as “One whose diet consists of grains, plants, and plant products and who eats no meat.” This seems as serviceable a definition as any, and, for the sake of simplicity, it is the one that we will employ.

Second, what do we mean when we talk about a moral life? To live a moral life is to live rightly, virtuously. A moral life is a good life. For many, morality means acting in accordance with a particular religious dogma or observing long-held community traditions. The human family, though, embraces a bewildering array of spiritual paths and culture-bound customs. Since it has thus far proven impossible to empirically prove the unqualified correctness of any of these, we must look for a definition of morality that is broader in its compass. Bertrand Russell famously described the good life as “one inspired by love and guided by knowledge” (56). Jesus claimed to sum up the Law of Moses and the words of the Hebrew prophets when he said, in his Sermon on the Mount, “Whatever you want men to do to you, do also to them” (Matt. 7:12). These are guidelines that people of all nationalities, faiths, and social classes can agree upon. Implicit in them is the idea that we concern ourselves, not with our personal welfare alone, but with that of others as well. For the purposes of this paper we will call a moral life one that is lived with reasonable, well-informed consideration for the wellbeing of all who are capable of experiencing wellbeing, including one’s self.

Finally, what circumstances allow a person to reasonably adopt a vegetarian diet, and why should we allow for exceptions? It might be argued that one’s personal welfare and circumstances have little to do with moral decisions, but this is not always realistic. To choose a course that results in less suffering for others but ultimately brings one’s own life to an end cannot be called moral in the sense that we have defined it. A discussion of the possible merits of martyrdom is beyond the purview of this paper, and would only serve to distract us from the matter at hand. Let us say that an individual’s circumstances allow him or her to reasonably adopt a vegetarian diet when the individual can do so with available means and maintain good health. We make these provisions for the sake of simplicity and with deference to those who might, because of poverty or scarcity of resources, have no choice but to eat animal flesh or die.

This would be a good time to discuss the nutritional value of a vegetarian diet. We have already established that a person must be able to maintain good physical health if the choice to give up meat is to be a reasonable, moral decision. Is it true, as so many loving mothers have asserted over the years, that we need meat to be healthy? Our concern of course is not to assess the relative health benefits of animal flesh, but to determine whether or not such foods are indispensable to a healthy diet. There has been a great deal of research done on this topic, and we need not delve too deeply into the facts and figures in order to make our point. The United States Department of Agriculture’s MyPyramid web site states quite clearly: “Vegetarian diets can meet all the recommendations for nutrients. The key is to consume a variety of foods and the right amount of foods to meet your calorie needs.” The site goes on to list just what the necessary foods are, all of which are available from even the most narrowly appointed small town grocer. It is safe, then, to say that anyone with access to such an establishment who does not labor under any extraordinary health issues has the requisite circumstances to reasonably adopt a vegetarian diet.

Now we come to the most important question: Why? Why is it morally necessary to leave off eating animals when our circumstances allow it? I proceed from a very basic assumption – that it is wrong to end the life of a sentient being without good reason. By ‘sentient being’ I mean a being that is capable of experiencing suffering and pleasure, and that demonstrates this capability by avoiding the former and pursuing the latter. This is roughly the meaning of the term as understood in Buddhist philosophy and the works of Peter Singer, author of the seminal Animal Liberation (8—9). The animals that humans typically consume for food most definitely fall into the category of sentient beings. We need hardly appeal to the formidable clinical evidence in support of this assertion (Singer 10—16); our own common sense demonstrates its truth. Who of us has not encountered an injured animal writhing and wailing in clearly evident pain? Have we not many times seen animals struck by their owners or trainers, whimpering and cowering in fear? All of us are familiar with the contented purr of a comfortable housecat and the happily wagging tail of an excited dog. In fact, most people already agree on this, as demonstrated by widespread laws forbidding cruelty to animals. Matt Cartmill, a professor of biological anthropology at Duke University, makes this plain in his book A View to a Death in the Morning: Hunting and Nature Through History:
There is a consensus today, at any rate in the industrialized West, that the suffering of sentient animals is something that is intrinsically undesirable: that, other things being equal, the deliberate infliction of such suffering is something that must be justified, by showing that it serves a higher or more urgent goal. If we accept any sort of laws against cruelty to animals, we must accept this proposition. (180—181)


It should be clear that animals (again, we understand ‘animals’ in this paper to refer to those that humans typically consume for food) are sentient beings, capable of experiencing pain and pleasure. Why do we say that it is wrong to end such a life without good reason? Naturally, very few would argue against such an injunction with regard to humans, but we are hesitant to apply it to animals, the issue of sentience notwithstanding. We are in the habit of viewing human life as intrinsically valuable—the current pinnacle of evolution or a creation molded in the very image of God. According to this homo-centric worldview, all other life forms are necessarily lower, and thus less valuable. Is such a view really justifiable? As was mentioned earlier, the vast number of religious traditions makes it impossible to accept the views of any particular one as a suitable basis for universal ideals. Therefore we will leave aside the Judeo-Christian idea that man has been granted dominion over other life forms by a creator deity. Are there any qualities peculiar to humans that justify our claims of superiority over other sentient beings? There are those who certainly think so. They may cite our capacity for love, our ability to remember the past and draw conclusions about the future, our moral autonomy, or our faculty of self-consciousness. It is obvious though that even many humans, due to mental illness, brain injury, or other circumstances, are not possessed of these abilities and capacities. Is the life of a human in a vegetative state, unable to think for himself, feed himself, communicate, or be self-aware, equal in value to that of a normal, healthy, intelligent adult? If we say yes, we admit that drawing a line between the value of human and non-human sentient life is arbitrary, having nothing to do with qualities or abilities unique to humans. If we say no, the implications are even more staggering, for, as Professor Singer points out, we are denying the very principle of equality on which arguments against racism and sexism rest:
It is an implication of this principle of equality that our concern for others and our readiness to consider their interests ought not to depend on what they are like or on what abilities they may possess….the basic element—the taking into account of the interests of the being, whatever those interests may be—must,according to the principle of equality, be extended to all beings, black or white, masculine or feminine, human or nonhuman. (5)


At this point in our discussion it has become quite evident that we are dealing with a very complicated issue, one with a tremendous number of subtleties that could take the debate in an equal number of directions. It is for this reason that I have chosen to develop a very narrowly focused thesis. I have stated that choosing a vegetarian diet is a necessity for anyone whose circumstances reasonably allow it and who wants to live a moral life. We have defined all terms and clarified the circumstances that would reasonably allow someone to adopt a healthy vegetarian diet. We have demonstrated why animals should not be exempted from the general rule that it is wrong to end the life of a sentient being without good reason. It is now prudent that we consider just what would constitute a good reason to end the life of a sentient being.

It is generally accepted that there are some circumstances under which it might be appropriate to terminate even a human life. Just what those circumstances are is a matter of sustained controversy. There are those who argue that a woman has a right to terminate a pregnancy when giving birth would seriously endanger her health, or when the fetus, because of internal or external circumstances, does not have reasonable prospects for a full, happy life. Many feel that the family of a terminally ill person with negligible brain function and whose survival depends on round-the-clock care and the operation of feeding and breathing machines has the right to cut that individual’s life short, and that doing so would even be an act of mercy. Similarly, while the circumstances that make up the quality of an animal’s life may be quite different from those of a human, there could be times when ending an animal’s life would be considered acceptable. For instance, an animal suffering without hope of respite or recovery might be mercifully euthanized. As we have already mentioned, it could even be argued that, in a situation in which a human has no recourse but to eat animal flesh or die, killing an animal would be justified. Even these points are subject to debate, but in order to maintain our focus, we will leave them open.

This brings us to a major question: Is the fact that humans enjoy eating meat, even though they may not need it to survive, a good enough reason to justify killing animals? Given the matters we have already addressed, this seems like a ridiculous question. Nevertheless, it is a very popular argument. Much of this paper is based on a discussion I recently had with a friend over breakfast at a local diner. I made many of the same points that I have made in these pages, and my friend agreed with me on each of them, even as she munched away at a crisp side of bacon. When I pointed out this incongruity, she observed that, while people are often willing to acknowledge the intellectual validity of a position, they are much less frequently inclined to effect a change in their personal habits. It does not appear that reason or logic has anything to do with many of our actions; we do what feels good and we can hardly be troubled to consider the repercussions. This attitude evinces a moral laziness and laxity that should make us shudder. It is the very definition of immoral.

Morality has no meaning when it is a mere intellectual exercise. It is only when we weigh matters carefully while striving for objectivity, reach reasonable conclusions, and then act in accordance with those conclusions that we can rightly be called persons of moral integrity. It is on such a foundation that our personal relationships and even society itself rest. If we cannot count on our fellow humans to act in accordance with certain basic, agreed-upon moral tenets, then there is no basis for trust among us and no reason to think that humans could ever live together harmoniously. We have come to a point in our development at which such basic moral resolve is not optional. We have grown so numerous, and we wield such power over the natural world, that failure to consider the consequences of our actions is tantamount to suicide, for the harm we inflict on others is harm inflicted on ourselves. Professor Cartmill rightly points out that “Growing up involves learning to recognize the consequences of our actions and taking responsibility for them” (181). For our own sake and for that of all living things, we must grow up.

So far we have dealt with common objections to the points made even as we discussed the points themselves. While I have no delusions about my ability to cover every possible objection in a short paper, there are two that deserve special consideration. Both have been examined in greater depth and with greater eloquence by Professor Singer in Animal Liberation, but I will endeavor to provide a quick summary of each.

The first has to do with what is perceived by some as the ‘natural order of things.’ Animals kill each other for food, and humans have engaged in the hunt since time immemorial. Would it not be unnatural to tamper with nature’s balance by introducing the question of morality into this cycle? Singer dismisses this idea thusly:
Nonhuman animals are not capable of considering alternatives, or of reflecting morally on the rights and wrongs of killing for food; they just do it….Every reader of this book, on the other hand, is capable of making a moral choice on this matter. We cannot evade our responsibility for our choice by imitating the actions of beings who are incapable of making this kind of choice. (222—225)


We might add that the actions of our ancestors have as little bearing upon our current moral obligations as do the actions of animals. An interesting comment is made by Michael Pollan in The Omnivore’s Dilemma:
The notion of granting rights to animals may lift us up from the brutal, amoral world of eater and eaten—of predation—but along the way it will entail the sacrifice, or sublimation, of part of our identity—of our own animality….Not that the sacrifice of our animality is necessarily regrettable; no one regrets our giving up raping and pillaging, also part of our inheritance. (314—315)


Of course, we are not talking about animal rights in this paper, and Pollan’s overall position is in favor of the choice to eat meat. His words do, however, point out the weakness of the ‘natural order’ argument, even for those who espouse it.

The second objection was touched upon earlier and can be quickly dispensed with. It goes roughly like this: Plants are living things, and for all we know they are capable of suffering too. If we allowed this to stop us from eating plants, as it has been argued that we should do in the case of animals, we would starve to death. Therefore we are under no moral obligation to stop killing animals for food. It does not take a very shrewd person to see that this is an attempt to rationalize the consumption of meat rather than an effort to make a real moral argument. There is no evidence, clinical or common sense, to indicate that plants have any capacity to suffer pain or enjoy pleasure. Even if (and this is a big ‘if’) it were possible to prove that plants did indeed experience pain, this would not absolve us of the responsibility to consider the moral implications of our diet and to do our best to lessen the amount of suffering we inflict according to our circumstances (Singer 235—236).

It seems reasonable that as humans continue to evolve our morality will evolve as well. While mankind still struggles with racial prejudice, religious intolerance, sexism, nationalism, and the like, progress has undoubtedly been made. We live in a world in which many nations no longer allow the cruel and demeaning practice of slavery. Women have a greater deal of autonomy and influence than they have ever had in the annals of history. For many of our young people, it is difficult to imagine a time when black people and white people were forbidden by law to use the same water fountain. These are hopeful developments, and we have every reason to suppose that this trend, however slow its progress, will continue. As we learn more about the way in which the human brain operates, we have less and less reason to think ourselves so very different from our fellow animals. We have even begun to see inklings of what we would call compassion demonstrated among the higher mammals. It is my hope that one day the thought of slaughtering an animal for food will be a distant memory, a barbaric relic of a benighted age relegated to the history books.

However far away that day might seem now, we must remember that change begins with individuals, and a large-scale shifting of consciousness can only occur one person at a time. There is little hope that humans will leave off eating animals entirely in our lifetime, but growing public interest in cruelty-free living and free-range animal products is a hopeful sign. Morality is about ideals – it does not deal so much with how things are at the moment, but with how they could be and should be. By the choices we make today we can help to ensure that successive generations of humans will be more compassionate, more reasonable, and more wise. Giving up the eating of meat, something that we might enjoy but do not need, is a small sacrifice to make towards these ends.

Works Cited
Cartmill, Matt. A View to a Death in the Morning: Hunting and Nature Through History.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1993. Rpt. in Animal Rights: Opposing
Viewpoints. Ed. Andrew Harnack. San Diego: Greenhaven Press, 1996. 180-181.
Holy Bible: The New King James Version. Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1982.
MyPyramid.gov: Vegetarian Diets. 3 April 2007. United States Department of
Agriculture (USDA). 30 June 2007 <>
Pollan, Michael. The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals. New
York: The Penguin Press, 2006.
Russell, Bertrand. “What I Believe.” Why I Am Not a Christian. Ed. Paul Edwards.
New York: Simon & Schuster, 1957. 56.
Stahler, Charles. “How Many Adults Are Vegetarian?” Vegetarian Journal 2006 Issue 4:
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Singer, Peter. Animal Liberation. New York: Random House, 1990.
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