Looking at the future on approaching 40

As I approach the age of 40, it seems that in spite my intentions, I have made this an important birthday. Life events, including a lay-off and the death of my dog who had been my primary anchor during the toughest years of my life, have played a part. I have finally fully accepted that the fragments that seem to be forced upon us in the academy are illusory. The idea, for example, that a scholar must write boring prose, is no longer something I accept. One of the reasons I took this creative nonfiction course was so I could experiment with ways I could incorporate a more engaging writing style with my scholarly essays. Unexpectedly, I found myself writing on more personal topics, such as my own social, spiritual, and general life struggles. Perhaps that is what I need to be doing right now to push past this final obstruction that I’ll forever call the wretched thirties. Maybe not. Maybe perspective will soften that judgment. I’m certainly open to that.

Now, I am planning on full-time study of spirituality and religion. My engagement with the writing world is not going to disappear as this progresses. In fact, the primary way I plan to use this training and study is for writing. I envision myself writing essays about religion, finding the nooks and dark corners and quirky sidebars of spirituality that show how different we are as people expressing, probably, the same universal desire. I realize not everyone is as serious about this topic as I am, but it seems everyone I have met has reckoned with the big questions at some level, even if it is to take a peek, or be forced to go to some religious service, and conclude that they will just find out when they die.

With each new professor in the very near future, I will inquire about his or her receptiveness to my writing papers for their courses in a creative-nonfiction manner. Speaking from a craft-oriented perspective, I think the more essays of a similar nature that I read, the more skilled I will be, and the stronger my instincts will become. I foresee the challenge of writing at a scholarly level but with the idea of “making the topic interesting” for a reader who would not be in such a college course. While this is still a foggy idea for me, I feel it is part of my own calling as a writer. I have been told that, based on blog entries I have written on various topics, that I should be striving towards publication, and that has become appealing to me. Fiction writing, which is what I’ve primarily studied for most of my adult life (a pursuit which included not only an M.A. in the topic, but also additional workshops later in life), has become increasingly frustating, while nonfiction has offered much gratification. I have enjoyed what I have done so far in this class and elsewhere, and can see taking it more seriously than I once did. While I am unsure how much memoir-type writing I really want to do, I am very attracted to weaving in some personal memoir along with more philosophical religious ideas.

I’ve heard that some writers have the goal of having published enough books to fill a bookshelf by the time they pass away. I hold no such goals, but I do want to actively publish, in both the scholarly journals and in the more popular press. While book publishing is certainly a desire, my more immediate interest is in articles and essays, and I doubt I will limit myself to my academic pursuits, topically speaking. I do have some memoir pieces already begun, of course, and I am not abandoning those. The spiritual autobiography is a draw for me, though I am seeing this being more “doable” if I pursue it first as a series of articles that I can later compile together for a book, with some transitioning and editing to make it into an effective larger work. Small slices of life are important to me too, so I will continue to write about those. My role in the writerly world, as I see it now, is to move away from my previous desire of writing solely for an audience of other writers. I want to be part of the world’s thinking community, and I want to share my thoughts and research with the readers of such publications as Harper’s and the New Yorker and The Atlantic, even if those specific magazines aren’t my ultimate destination. I’d like to contribute to the world of thinking, and I want to do it wearing the hat of the distinguished and talented writer. I plan to keep working on my skills, on my studies outside of those oriented on craft, combine the two, and share the fruits of my effort. This is my new dream. Better stated, this is to where I have come and how my self-image has evolved. It presents me with a feasible future and a satisfying career orientation. I’m not choosing a job; I’m integrating my strengths into a complete way of life, God willing.

Compassion for animals and ritual slaughter

Okay, the quick research I just did is on wikipedia, which is ALWAYS suspect, so I wanted to acknowledge that from the beginning.  Some of what I share here is just from memory of things I've read.  I won't go back and provide sources for now, because I just want to make a quick point.  I'm sure there are inaccuracies and other problems with my specifics.  That's not the point of this blog, so I've decided to place a HUGE disclaimer here instead.  Maybe someday I'll do a better job researching this and writing something much more substantial.  For now, you get this sloppy non-academic blog entry!

Warning: I do describe methods of slaughter here, and link to the wiki articles which go into even more written detail.

In Islam and other religions, animal welfare is actually important - treating animals with compassion, not abusing them, that sort of thing.  Hence, only "halal" (legal or lawful) meat is allowed (among other restrictions).  The halal article on wikipedia is here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halal.  It is argued by some Muslim scholars that the method called Dabihah (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ḏabīḥah) is a humane way to slaughter an animal for meat.  Dabihah is "cutting the large arteries in the neck along with the esophagus and trachea with one swipe of an unserrated blade."  Supposedly this is relatively painless and the animal is effectively brain-dead as it bleeds to death.

Some disagree, and some studies have been done (see the links).

Kashrut (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kosher) is the Jewish method, which seems similar. There are differences between the two and the details are available online.

Hindus and Sikhs who eat meat sometimes use a method called Jhatka (also, Chatka) (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jhatka), which is essentially very quickly chopping off the animal's head.  Obviously that's a pretty quick death.

There is a difference, in my opinion, between what is allowed by a religion and the solution to the complications.  There is a lot of respect towards the animals intended behind these rules and regulations, and much spirituality as well.  I respect this.

At the same time, bleeding an animal versus decapitating it...this is a choice for an animal lover?

When we don't need to eat these animals to begin with, it seems to me the least complicated and most compassionate way to go is to stop eating them altogether.

I say this with no judgment towards meat-eaters whatsoever.  What I believe is right and what I practice do not always match up.  I do occasionally eat meat at restaurants or when visiting others who are doing the cooking.  I've been though very tough times wherein the comfort-food qualities of meat-based dishes won out over my own personal ethical code.

And hence I write this blog entry as a musing on the issue.  For many years I have wanted to become a very disciplined vegetarian, and eventually a very disciplined vegan, and have not yet arrived there.

We do our best, and that's what all of this is about.

Very few people act with outright cruelty as their intention.

I've tried to make it clear here that this is complicated, and I am merely presenting my thoughts on the matter.  My hope is that my respect for you comes through.

Peace and all good.

Andrew

Sharing vs. Debate on Haiti, Gays in Christianity, and Everything Else

Candace Chellew-Hodge writes about some Christians' discussion of whether they should the love the sinner but hate the "sin," or if they are really called to just hate both.

That's one of those discussions I've been in before. To be honest, I'm a bit bored with it. Maybe that's because I'm leaning away from being part of the aspects of religion which focus on limitations, rigidity, dogmatism. More on that in a later blog post.

Then there is Pat Robertson's much-decried statements that Haiti's earthquake was the result of an historic pact-with-the-devil which has curse that nation for many many years. Anthea Butler discusses this using points that lead me to believe that Robertson's comments connect to an outdated colonial rich-white-man's superiority delusion, and ultimately a (possibly subconscious) racism.

It's getting exhausting trying to meet people point-for-point when, frankly, the points repeat with every debate. I prefer discussion to debate.

Yes, the distinction is subtle. They may even be synonyms. I use them as different terms for convenience of communication. When I think "debate" I think of two people, each with a thesis. The goal is for each to present the best arguments for their position, to be convincing, to win. I'm not sure what you win, maybe an ego boost or admiration in the eyes of viewers. Unless my debts get paid off from this sort of debate, I just find them frustrating and energy-sucking.

A discussion, in my own use of the term here, is one wherein both parties (or more than two) are engaged in a thoughtful, honest, open mulling-of-the-issues, preferably with open-mindedness thrown in. "I have to admit that it is hard for me to discuss abortion because I have had a traumatic experience with it in the past." That's the kind of honesty that's great to have in a discussion. In a debate the retort would be something like, "then all of your arguments are suspect," or "let's use your traumatic experience to turn it around to prove my point." In a discussion, the response would be empathy, or at least a deepening engagement with the topic at hand and, even better, between the people involved.

I'm not advocating anti-logic. "I don't see how that's logical" is still a proper thing to say when someone says something. For me the defining characteristic of a good discussion is that there is no longer a final goal of "winning."

With someone going on about how different it is to hate the "sin" but not the "sinner," is there really a point in pursuing it, trying to convince him or her that it is difficult to love someone when you truly "hate" something about that person? Maybe, but one must listen first, encourage that person to really get into why they feel that way. But it's exhausting to try when it just boils down to Bible quoting and talking points. If it doesn't get down to the nitty gritty personal aspects of why someone feels the way they do, that energy is expended for little reason but to build one's rhetorical skills.

The example of Pat Robertson and his Haitian devil comment is trickier. This is based on a colonial idea of the "primitive" (in today's terms, "Third World") person, the "savage," who is not enlightened by the "one true religion," and of course proper old-European social class stratification. Vodon ("Voodoo") isn't devil-worship. It's not a religion I know much about, but the idea that it's satanic is coming from the imposition of a certain kind of Christian worldview that is pretty much irrelevant to those who do not share that worldview. It ultimately boils down to who is right and who is wrong, once again. I'm "right" because I'm "white" and my ancestors were European. Goodie. Again, while it's fun and enlightening to have a discussion about the complex issues that Robertson has raised, I don't see much fruit coming from actually debating the guy, or those who agree with him.

Bishop Spong wrote this in October of 2009: "I will no longer debate the issue of homosexuality in the church with anyone.... Those arguments are no longer worthy of my time or energy." (The short manifesto is worth reading in its entirety.) That's where I am now on all religious debate. I'm willing to discuss (by my own definition which I described above), but if I'm asked which religion is best, or most true, or most dangerous, I'm not going to answer definitively. I will share my experience, knowledge, interpretations, even instincts, but I'm not going to try to prove me right or prove you wrong. I'm not going to waste time answering every talking point. If I make an assertion, and you ask me to defend it, I will do my best to explain why I feel that way or from where comes my conclusion. But the minute it becomes about winning a debate, I will ideally pull out. I don't care if I'm accused of something unsubstantiated, like "typical liberal can't take a debate." I've been called a "typical liberal" many times, for this reason, even if my accuser only knows one thing about me (like my stance on the war, for example). Whatever. I'd love to engage with you on why you feel the way you feel, and why I feel the way I feel. But that means listening, sharing, asking, nodding, being very present to the experience of you and me being who we are, connected as humans. Can we do that? If not, then it's time to move on, because, to steal from Spong, it's "no longer worthy of my time or energy."

No offense, but I've spent too much time playing these games. I want a boyfriend, a life's vocation, a purpose. I want to connect and mingle, not bash my head against yours.

Peace and all good