The Transmorgification of Guilt

In my adolesence I was troubled by a strong religious guilt. I don’t know where it originated; I don’t remember a childhood imbued with doctrinal teaching on damnation or sin either at home or the church my family attended. And yet, during middle school and high school it somehow manifested.

In retrospect, I believe that I had become wrapped up in a larger cultural movement in the 1990s-early 2000s where youth were exploring Christianity largely through youth groups, large “Christian music” festivals and of course, a hugely successful consumer movement. But that note of explanation does not address the matter of the guilt itself.  I will try to provide a very brief explanation.

The guilt I felt was founded in the belief of my own sinfulness and depravity. I feared God’s judgment and power and what I saw as the flawed nature of my humanity. I held myself to a strict legalistic code I was never able to uphold.  During my sophomore year of college, this belief strengthened and became highly irrational, and resulted in what I believe were legitimate ‘numinous’ experiences.  I suddenly felt as if I was conscious of the power of God, and was threatened by it.  And because of my sin, I believed that if God chose to strike me down with his power, he would be right to do so.

That same year, Dostoevsky and Luther saved me. I found my irrational, paralyzing fear to be exercised and exhausted through Dostoevsky’s underground man, Luther’s accounts of his struggles of faith, and acted out through the madness of Ivan and grace of Alyosha in The Brothers Karamazov. Each showed me different ways to understand grace. After this I began to relax, and my guilt was eased.  Since that time, I have not experienced such guilt, or felt the weight of my sin, and my religious views and understanding have changed considerably.

That is, until recently.  But now, the guilt I feel is not entirely religious.  I would call it environmental guilt.

As part of my graduate studies, a year ago I took a class on energy and the environment. The books I read for that class detailed the ecological errors (read: sins) of the last century and their consequences.  I began to believe that the most pressing social issues of our time are connected to the use of our environment, and that environmentalism is not simply the domain of the World Wildlife Fund’s efforts to protect pandas and the like, honorable as that may be.  Global climate change, natural resource management, energy policy–all of these things are connected and have direct consequences not only for plants and animals, but for human societies as well.

The problem with believing this way is that simply by participating in modern society and its conveniences such as typing on this computer (which in my area uses electricity made by burning coal, then posting this blog on a server, which uses electricity, which you will in turn read somewhere and must use electricity to do so), I am complicit in the incremental damage caused every moment to the environment by fossil fuels.  If I purchase a plastic bottle of water, I may be considered wasteful.  If I purchase a burger from the Burger King across from my office, I am supporting unsustainable agricultural practices.  And on and on into minutiae. How can someone atone for an implicit environmental ‘sin’ when the very infrastructure of America is founded upon it?  I am still trying to figure that out, and each day am trying to find a way to relieve my environmental guilt.  Should I feel guilty when I use a paper towel?  When I oversleep and have to drive instead of taking the bus and train? When I don’t reuse paper at my desk?

I am aware that I am not the only person arriving in this mental place right now.  A clear indication of that is the dearth of products that have become available in the past few years catering to people like me who wish to lessen their impact on the earth.  And there is likely much good that comes from having these products on the market.  However, I am beginning to see the parallels between ‘green’ consumer products and ‘Christian’ consumer products–they each cater to a niche segment of the population that seeks to isolate itself, or at least set itself apart from others and be identified by the products they purchase instead of more meaningful actions.  Too often we as Americans seem dependent on the thought that some new thing is what will help us in correcting our thoughts and actions, when all that is really necessary is a change of attitude and perspective, and the willingness to change the way we live.

To be honest, I don’t know whether the consumerism I explored in the last paragraph has anything to do with my guilt, other than that my guilt compels me to participate in it when necessary.

As a final thought, I believe something a professor mentioned in a recent class spreads some light on how my guilt may have shifted from being religiously-focused to environmentally-focused.  A scholar by the name of Peter Hay has put forth a theory that the wellsprings of environmental commitments are pre-rational, meaning that for many or most people with environmental concerns intuitively feel a consternation with the environmental destruction that has occurred in the past century.  I believe that I would fall into this category of persons with a pre-rational consternation about our current state, and given my personal faith history is very likely pre-rational as well, it is likely that my feeling of guilt could be transferred to the environment.  Although my philosophical and religious views, as well as my environmental views, have been heavily scrutinized, I seem unable to shake the initial inclinations of either.

I suppose I come to environmental studies with the zeal and ignorance of a neophyte, and the recent convert of any cause is overly passionate.

The Omnivore’s Dilemma

I just finished reading Michael Pollan’s book earlier this morning. I have to say that I was impressed. I think that most people who purchase this book already have a fairly decent amount of interest in the subject matter–food, and concerns over where and how it makes its way to our plates. Nonetheless, although a book on food certainly has the capacity to be mundane, this one never is. Rather, Pollan infuses food with a wonder and awe that is almost spiritual in some passages.

The book chronicles the author’s travels and experiences as he investigates all the links in the industrial, industrial organic, what might be termed “local organic,” and hunter-gatherer food chains. His prose is lyrical, and in many ways, akin to the subject he is ultimately writing about: agriculture. As you read, one can feel his argument growing from the ground up, progressing through several stages into a final blossoming and fruition which he harvests in his conclusions. Once consumed, the writer’s arguments continue to be digested, and you find yourself mulling over where your meals come from, and whether your food purchases make you morally implicit on a much grander scale. This style is incredibly effective, and I have the utmost respect for Pollan’s skill as a writer.

Interestingly, as a resident of Chicago, each of the food chains that Pollan describes can find its way to me. By way of Jewel and other supermarkets, I have access to the industrial food chain, through Whole Foods and other high-end grocers the industrial organic food chain may link to me, and through farmer’s markets I can procure food directly connected to the region. Though I guess that this should come as no surprise, since Chicago has always found a way to become the hub of the Midwest; it would seem the food supply is no exception.

Given the magnitude of food options I have, and the knowledge I now carry with me, does that make me more guilty if I choose to eat mcdonalds? If I buy Tyson chicken? If I eat something I know was shipped 1500 miles? Should I not eat at restaurants who can’t guarantee their food was locally grown, or shipped on biodiesel rigs? How stringent should I be? And most important: how am I supposed to eat locally in the dead of winter?

All these questions remain since I read the book. But what I am learning about being environmentally aware is that the principles popular books such as this one teach are to be applied generally, and it is up to the reader to learn how to live out these principles specifically in their own local community. And that is what I hope to learn to do from this day forward.

One of the most revealing things mentioned in the book is the extent I which industrial agriculture is dependent on petroleum: for its fertilizer, for its pesticides, for its harvesting, for its transport. Most of our food is utterly dependent on petroleum, the greatest modern asset. And that is very disquieting, but not at all surprising. Industrial agriculture operates on the economics of scale, and the only way to produce at that level today is to use petroleum nearly every step of the way.

What is pleasantly surprising is that there exists a whole separate food chain that operates in a different economy, a local economy that favors quality over quantity and nurturing the earth rather than exploiting it. Local organic farmers aspire to the ideals of Wendell Berry, Joel Salatin and other agrarians, and lift those ideals from the page and bring them to life. The farmers markets where they sell their goods appeal to urban-dwellers like me, who have begun to crave anything that can remind us of our connection to the earth and soil.  Going to a farmer’s market is a conscious effort, intentional in every way.

And yet…

Industrial agriculture feeds so many people.  As Pollan points out, without modern industrial fertilizer, millions of people would likely have never been born.  (See Chapter 2, section 4).  And these are the very types of things that make these questions so difficult to answer.

The source of my interest, and a personal history.

For the past few years since college, I have struggled with–and tried to think my way through–all manner of ethical dilemmas. After college, I had no idea what I wanted to study in grad school. So I took some time off and worked, like a good member of society should. After having been a student for so long–from ages 5 to 20, I suddenly started to consider in earnest what it meant to be a ‘member of society.’ What duties, responsiblities, culpabilities, liabilities, etc., are levied on me? To whom was I accountable: my family, community, state, country, or even the whole world? And what effect do i even have on the rest of the world? Do I add or detract in helping to solve the world’s problems, or my country’s, down to the most basic level?

I started on this mental journey about what i buy. As an average American, I then believed (and to some extent still believe) my main source of influence was likely through my consumerism.

Some of the first books I read exploring these topics were Fast Food Nation and Reefer Madness by Eric Schlosser. I became convinced that one could be held accountable for the reckless and suspect actions of corporations simply by purchasing a combo meal at a drive-thru.

For over a year after reading these books, I didn’t eat fast food–especially McDonald’s–w/ a couple exceptions (Jack in the Box being one). I also didn’t eat strawberries because of the treatment of workers who harvested them. I believe that I practiced what I preached.

Since that time, my conviction has slackened. I now on occasion eat fast food, though mostly for lunch I brown-bag it, and my wife and I don’t typically eat out at fast food joints. Nonetheless, I am less ardent in my disapproval and personal resolve on this front.

However, my resolve may soon change once again. I am now reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma, a similar book to the ones I have already mentioned. It returns to the same themes that first caught my attention: the overlooked inportance of agriculture and food production; the question of whether modern systems of distribution are right, or even ultimately sustainable; and to what extent a “culture of waste” is a symptom or catalyst of these problems.

It is odd that these questions that so deeply concern land and our relationship with it should strike me at this point in my life: I am an urban resident of Chicago, with asphalt under foot instead of soil, 40 miles away in most directions from any open country. And make no mistake, I relish city life, though it is often devoid of nature. But I now see that the city is dependent on the country almost entirely on the level of base necessities. I hope to explore that relationship more.

This is where I began, and also where I am headed.