A Treatise on the Moral Relevance of Food in the Modern World

I became fascinated with the importance of food more intensely when I first read the Upanishads. After various moral treatises and directives, lists would inevitably appear on the rewards of correct and proper behavior. Often among them I read the phrase, ÒHe who does these things will be an eater of food.Ó At the time I took this quite literally, not noticing the more subtle interpretations such as Òhe will continue to liveÓ, or Òhe will live healthfully.Ó No, I took it to mean: he will eat food, and I was struck by how important this made food in such moral systems. Or how important food must have been to these people to have it as a reward. In these ancient cultures food certainly was not taken for granted. I began to wonder why my own tradition did not give so large a role to this thing which gives sustenance to our human bodies. After a time of meditation, I realized that the Judeo-Christian belief system has a host of views on food. Mostly these views manifest themselves as rules on how it is to be consumed, such as the rule wherein the Hebrews were not to save the manna they collected in the desert for the next day. Such rules seem arbitrary in the modern mind, but there are larger reasons for such specific rules to be in place.

I got out of the shower and put on my favorite blue plaid boxers. I had just lathered up my face for a shave when I heard a peculiar Òthump plumpÓ type sound. I slowly turned my head to the hallway and looked at the opposite wall not knowing what I expected to see. There was nothing immediately out of the ordinary, until I looked down. There on the carpet of the hallway, head cocked sideways, a small mockingbird was looking back at me with as much curiousness as I was looking at him. This was the second time in as many weeks a bird had flown down our chimney and ended up in our hallway, so I wasnÕt too shocked to see it there.

I walked out into the hallway and herded the bird into the kitchen, where my new bread machine was whirling away on the whole wheat bread cycle. I shut the kitchen door behind me, so the bird couldnÕt get back into the house. My intention was to let it out the back door, but the screen door the courtyard was locked and the key was in the living room. When I returned to the kitchen with the key the bird was no where to be seen, but I was sure he was there somewhere. I opened the back door and went back into the kitchen, grabbed a chair and slammed it on the floor a few times in hopes that the noise would drive the bird out of hiding, and out of my kitchen. The noise did not scare the bird, but it did get the attention of our adopted stray cat Tuna, so named because she likes to drink the tuna juice from leftover cans. The plain white cat sauntered in with all the confidence of a house owner.

When the bird, hiding beside the table saw Tuna, that did scare it. It let out a peep and flew for the courtyard. The street smart alley cat, knowing a fresh kill when it sees one, used the mythic reflexes possessed by all cats and bolted out the door, onto the bird, immediately scooping it into her mouth. This was not my plan at all. I ran outside, shooed the cat off with my foot and picked up the small mockingbird who now had a double treatment of shock from both chimney and feline. I held it on my open palm and asked, ÒCan you fly?Ó Apparently the bird thought it could.

It took off with a weak stride and slowly zig-zagged into the ivy covered brick wall of the courtyard. It held onto an ivy branch and fluttered its wings for about one second before gravity took its toll and the bird fell into the bushes lining the wall. A white streak shot past me right as this happened and almost before the bird hit the ground, it was back in TunaÕs mouth. I plowed though the bushes, admonishing the cat, ÒYou get enough to eat!Ó I shooed that cat with my foot once again and picked up the bird. I walked out into the middle of the courtyard and started looking for a place to put the stunned bird where the cat could not reach it. It was only then, standing in the middle of the courtyard, that I realized I was almost naked (wearing only my favorite plaid blue boxers) and fully lathered for a shave, holding this bird. There was no time now, I had to act fast before my humiliation got the best of me and I started to imagine any number of neighbors who could be staring out their windows at me in this ridiculous state.

I climbed up onto the air-conditioning unit, and onto the railing of the stairs, and put the poor bird onto the awning covering the back stairs. I quickly went inside, but immediately the bird flew off, was caught by the cat, and I was forced into another semi-naked back yard adventure.

ÒYou get enough to eat!Ó

I have recently been writing a set of poems based on the seven heavenly virtues and the seven deadly sins. I wanted to show in the poems how each sin hurts an individualÕs relationship with God and with his or her neighbors. The hardest of the sins to hash out in this respect was Gluttony. I could easily understand why it was an affront to God. Over stuffing oneÕs body beyond need was a sign of lack of trust toward the divine, the need to store grain in the large barns of our bodies, and not rely on the ability of The All Sustaining to provide our daily bread. In a country like America, where there is no lack in the first place, this is truly a sin. But why does it break the bonds of brotherhood? Any true mortal sin must break the sinnerÕs relation between both the human and the divine. I racked my brain before coming to the conclusion that aided me in finishing, at least, the rough draft of the poem.

ÒSo what are the rules?Ó He said.

ÒWell there arenÕt rules per se…Ó I said, then I changed my mind. ÒWell, there are a few. I told myself I wouldnÕt eat meat, and no snacking between meals, and no eating after 8:00 at night. That plus a general attitude of abstinence.Ó Describing the Lenten regulations I had set for myself became a hard sell to my friend who leads such a carpe diem-laden lifestyle.

ÒSo you can go out to eat with us then, itÕs not after eight and you can eat something light.Ó

ÒWell, not going out to eat isnÕt really a strict rule, but itÕs against the spirit.Ó

ÒHow?Ó

ÒI donÕt know, it just is.Ó And I wasnÕt lying. It took me a while to figure out why it was against the rules. It wasnÕt because it tasted so good. I had made many things that tasted good over Lent in my own kitchen, and had relished the savory, but smaller than usual, portions.

In fact I needed the sensible secularism of NPR to bring me to a proper conclusion as to why eating out was against the rules. The piece was about the 1950’s and the great push by the food industry to make cooking seem like a chore, more than something to take pride in. From this push comes all of those freaky recipes where one uses just about every canned and dried article available to make some horrible sounding cobbler, or casserole. We look though these old cookbooks now and stand aghast. It turns out that the people who read them for the first time had a similar reaction, and no one made or ate them then either. The recipes came out of a calculated push by industry to make people lazy with regards to meal preparation. This in turn would push the masses to go out and buy pre-made foods instead of cooking their own meals and enjoying them. The part of the NPR piece that really caught my attention was when they were talking about the instant cake mix. Women cooks of the fifties took great pride in their cakes and it was seen as a great gift to spend the time to make a cake for someone. The work itself was the major part of the gift, and the personÕs acceptance of this work showed their gratitude and dependence on their loved one. The food industry now needed to replace this act of kindness through genuine work with a quick and easy way to do it, instant cake mix. The problem was, because of the pride in their labor, no one was buying these affronts to good taste. One marketer finally came up with the end all solution that put instant cake mix on the map, and began the quick decline of the American kitchen, as we know it. ÒTake out the instant egg and have them break an egg in the mixÓ he said. And thatÕs all it took. Now people felt like they had a part in cooking the cake and soon, baking a cake from scratch was seen as too much work. The slippery-slop was in effect.

When I heard this I knew why going to a restaurant was against the spirit of Lent in my mind. The same reason opening a can of raviolis or Chef Boyardee spaghetti was against the spirit of the rules. It is so easy to forget all those people who go into making these little boxed meals. They come so complete; that like manna they seemed to have fallen from the sky fully formed. But unlike manna there is no injunction reminding you that this is less about you than you think. I felt during Lent that I had to make spaghetti as much from scratch as the modern world allows. As a general rule of life, but especially throughout Lent, I made all my meals and ate nothing prepared in a service industry kitchen or solely from a can or box. ItÕs why I was so pleased with the bread maker I got. Even though the machine itself is a tool of the very same market forces that made me have to rely on instant cake mix, at least, in our lives of running thought the mazes of consumerism at mind boggling speeds, I can crack my egg into my bread maker. The bread I make is more self-produced than if I had bought it whole off the shelf. And by contemplating the various ingredients, I can come to realize that a multitude of various people went into helping me make this. ItÕs a step, though not a leap, in the right direction. And by one step at a time revolutions begin.

ÒHave you heard about the airetarians?Ó

This was one revolution I was loathe to join. The vegetarians were bad enough. The vegans, pronounced with a long e and hard g and disdainful of those, like myself, who pronounce it with a short e, and soft g, are worse. But the airetarians, well they…

Ò …Try to live off the natural nutrients in the air instead of sustaining themselves on living things.Ó

I had a feeling this movement wasnÕt going to last long. I donÕt even think the Jains do this type of thing anymore, and they are known for it. Not that the Jains are stupid enough to think there are Ònatural nutrients in the air.Ó When they go on their ultimate fast, it is seen as a sacrifice, knowingly going into death in order to end what violence your life, even the motion of your body, causes in the Karmic cycle. But it was hard for me to believe that the same friend, who was so puzzled by my Lenten fasts, was so interested in the airetarian movement. Though not agreeing with them he still thought the idea was neat enough to spread by word of mouth in a positive way. It made me wonder if natural family planning were simply called Òorganic family planningÓ and pamphlets were put out in all the alternative food stores, whether it would spread like wild fire. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet to The Holy See.

The airetarians are no gluttons, but they have the same problem as gluttons do with regards to God and man. Their attitude toward God is the same. Ignore the need for substance from outside yourself at your own peril. You will quickly learn what the Upanishads taught so long ago, Òdeath coupled with hunger. Then the seaman he emitted became the year.Ó Over time you will re-learn that you are a dependent being. But what was the answer to the question of brotherhood? Why does Gluttony, or the airetarians for that matter, offend oneÕs brother?

It seems the answer is once again dependence. To be overly focused on food, gorging oneself at the expense of recognizing dependence would also separate one from oneÕs brother, and nature at large. Like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. says, before we pass our third hour of the day, we have depended on two-thirds the world population. Now more than ever we are dependent not just the food, but the all the people who go into all of the steps of producing it, not just a small hunting or gathering party. To disregard the respect needed to eat, and see food as an end in and of itself, and you are taking for granted those who helped you achieve your sustenance. This is why the Eucharist is communion not only with the Christ, but also with the neighbor who takes it with you.

To take food in overly large quantities and deny a trustful reception of oneÕs daily bread and sustenance from God and men is a prideful state because it lends to the fantasy of self-reliance. It is also a prideful state to see oneÕs self as able to seek the nutrients of the air, without regard for God or man. In many Christian ethical corners, pride is seen as the father of all sin, so the view of food in this tradition is not necessarily that it is related to good conduct. Like any rich tradition, such as the Upanishads, the view of food is many faceted. But in one respect the proper disposition to food would be that food should be used as a recognition of dependence. Recognizing oneÕs dependence in the sense of causality, that is dependence on the people and things around you, and recognition of the ultimate dependence, that is the dependence of causality itself.

Phillip G.
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Somewhere out in America

Infinite hope and women wearing white…sounds like summer to us.

Reserved judgments clash with infinite hope
and women wearing white
huddle in the derelict doorways of the past.

It’s raining general all over Chicago
streaking mascara and personality -
shadow-casting hazy, turquoise-blue phantoms -
Ceres exacts spectre-gray revenge
then leaves it
as it is.

-July 7, 2004

A Night Scene by El Greco

His own private nightmare, laid bare.

The saturated air of twilight
slides to the horizon and gravelly
crunches keep modernity at bay

Slurred speech and simple sugars
crash head-on with sunlit obscurity
Ticket scalpers cast your lots
and pick a number; my own private
nightmare is on display

Don’t forget your camera, we’ve got
life, death, and plenty of diet soda
to soothe your frayed synapses

Swerving in and out of reality
bile creeps up my esophagus
but birthday greetings help me
remain calm

-September 12, 2003

That Would Happen Very Soon

Ambrose Bierce delivers a blow but
purple mistakes brighten my life-line.
Steinbeck reflects on death
while I turn the page
and my childhood ends.

Bitterness unleashes its rapt attention
as Joyce and Kevorkian smoke
until quarter to three.
Eddie Vedder is oblivious to the world;
He sits in the corner
singing softly and softly singing.

Ladies and gentlemen,
check your pride at the door

We’re about to enter hellish humanity.

-July 11, 2003

You got that from Shakespeare, didn’t you?

Uncomfortable silence hangs in the air…

Purple-plastic white noise quickens,
blood oozes rather than flows,
noose tightens, context fades,
the freshly-cut blonde ponytail leaps
from the chalkboard window and the
conjured woman cuts through the
pink-plaid lightning storm.

Solipsistic children devour
deep-dish rock ‘n’ roll songs
while gum wrappers and granola bars
are its avatar and seal.

Uncomfortable silence hangs in the air,
Septimus hurls himself out the window,
gets caughts, (we don’t even notice),
and he has dominion over all.

Excuse me, that’s interesting
What did you say?

-March 24, 2003

Delaying the inevitable

Growing up and into a life beyond bars with darts

Tightly-wound trip wires of illumination and
Shivers of autonomy falling upon me,
far into her eyes fearing -
while I trembled; fumbling, leering,
Catching myself, herself, skipping every
floodgate promise and speak-easy smile,
Fifteen hours and a French vanilla pick-up line
later - how much later? - I lost count,
the human voices have not yet awakened us.

-April 9, 2004
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