“Meat. Red meat. The number one thing that’s destroying the planet, folks.” -- Willem Dafoe, in response to the question, “What turns you off?” asked of him during his appearance on Inside the Actor’s Studio.

This is no longer a controversial statement in the United States. Its popularity ranks close to that of The Golden Rule.

I understand the foundations of Mr. Dafoe’s argument. I accept its factual underpinnings.

Yes, the rain forest is disappearing, in part to accommodate the pasturing of animals for us to eat. Yes, we are harvesting ominous numbers of fish from the world’s amniotic environment, all the while dumping barrels of toxic sludge into their home. Yes, we are farming our arable land into a condition that no longer naturally supports the agriculture we depend on to produce food that is cheaper, more easily renewable and more plentiful per acre than meat. Yes, we perceive these ecosystems to be cornerstones of life’s sustenance, and to be endangered. Our perceptions are probably correct.

These observations and perceptions have become the primary tenets of a proposition so well developed and inclusive that capitalism, hierarchical government, political propaganda, poverty, civilized violence and a variety of other situations are condemned as either contributors to or the consequences of omnivorousness. The complete thesis represents the as yet uncanonized Torah of Vegetarianism.

I’m not being sarcastic. This argument is evolving exactly as religions do. It goes beyond Judaic, Islamic, or Hindi dietary restrictions. These ancient codes may have elaborate sub-rationalities that approximate vegetarian dogma but their focus is God. The focus of vegetarianism today is the earth. Just as God will condemn us for disbelief (and we condemn God when we refuse to believe), the earth will condemn us for eating meat (and we condemn the earth when we eat meat). This doctrine is only marginally reinforced by scrupulous empiricism, which it doesn’t need. It’s a religious belief. It fulfills the requirement for civilization’s institutionalized religions; it contains a pledge of and a plan for salvation.

From what, for millennia, have we believed we need to be saved? The quick answer is, suffering and destruction. The considered answer is, ourselves. Civilized religion is established upon the concept that we inflict suffering upon and destroy ourselves, and this is wrong. In the religions we acknowledge, the cardinal sins have been ignorance and willfulness. The vegetarian translation is: illness and meat.

The Inquisition, the Holocaust, the Killing Fields are all testaments to evangelism’s unreliability in the arena of utopian construction. The problem isn’t that most people don’t care about impending destruction. The problem is that for all we don’t know about human life, the one thing we do know is that we human beings have never been able to accurately perceive the long term consequences of our actions. Never. This is bone knowledge. We pay lip service to the idea of the fully conscious life and work hard to achieve it. We postulate the perimeters of its assumed Paradise. Internally, though, we consistently operate from mysterious premises. These premises, despite the evolution of our outer circumstances, are deeply imbedded and have barely changed. The proof is that when we become hysterically unsure of our aggregate future, we still pray for salvation.

Unfortunately, religions don’t work as plans for societal salvation. Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism and Christianity have not saved us. The practice of vegetarianism seems promising, but, as a collective, we don’t have the universal motivation to legislate it. Thus, the religion of Vegetarianism will not save us.

I’m sure it sounds as though I’m the equivalent of a threatening, carnivorous shark. I’m not. I’m an observer. I stare at the surface and detect the shadows down through the depths, and speculate about what lies above. This week I’ve abstracted. Next week I’ll get personal, down to the meat (forgive the pun) of the issue.

Please hold your catcalls and applause until the end of the second act.

Text, Recipes & Graphics ©2000 by Gail Rae Hudson

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