My last post was intended primarily to raise a couple of issues: that when a married Catholic female decides to "live her marriage," as it's called, according to Church teaching, there is the possibility of unplanned pregnancies, whether because of miscalculation, lack of self-control, liquor, whatever. In the event of an unplanned pregnancy, particularly one that is "too soon" if you will, the intellectual class will wonder, particularly if she is in their midst, why she allowed this to happen to her. While it is true that certain professions are less supportive of frequent procreation than others, this was not the primary motivating factor behind my post. The reason my question of whether married Catholic women belong in the workplace was rhetorical, and the reason I clarified that I thought that married Catholic women do indeed belong in the workplace, is that I anticipated being told that when God blesses one with children, it is one's duty to stay home. I didn't really want to get into that. My real question was, how does one deal with the inevitable sneers in the event of an "oops" (or blessing)? Does one ignore and rest secure in the knowledge that one is doing God's will, and if so, how does this enter casual conversation? Does one try to raise consciousness and assert that children are not incompatible with careers? What I am hearing instead might run something like this. . .
HEADLINE: "GOD PLAYS DIRTY TRICK ON CATHOLIC WOMEN"
After allowing her to pursue her interests and develop intellectually for the better part of two decades, in the hope that she can make a livable wage using her God-given talents, God decides that the archetypal Catholic woman is not meant to pursue that path anyway, and instead blesses her with a large family. Unfortunately, her husband, in order to support her efforts, has been working in a job that is insufficient to support the large family economically rather than searching all over the country to find a livable wage for the large family that they didn't know they were going to have. Obviously, this is her fault for not being aware of her calling before she entered graduate school.
As one friend was told (jokingly, I assume) by her husband, she's just going to have to take this one up with God.
Gotta tell you, friends, if I really thought that this was the essence of Church teaching on the role of women in the family, I would probably have been a deathbed convert. As it stands, I do not believe that unplanned pregnancies are a signal to change vocation.
But what if they were? There is a definitive test for the vocation of motherhood. When you look at the little stick and see two lines instead of one, it means that God wants you to undertake the vocation of motherhood. It's a pretty easy sign to read, especially when you consider that there are digital ones nowadays that say "pregnant" or "not pregnant" instead of leaving it up to the women to interpret a "+" or "-" or the single- or double-lines. So that's good, no mystery there.
But what about you single women? I don't think a litmus test has been invented yet that you put on your tongue and it says "career path," "religious life," "marriage and kids in your future." God's calling may show itself a lot more subtly in your lives than in ours, I think. And when the time comes, you may not want to choose "either-or," but both. I, for one, believe that God made us capable of serving him in multiple ways, even within one person's lifetime.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
"It's Just a Catholic Thing" (?) in the Professions
A few months after my daughter (now 16 months) was born, I had her with me in my department, likely for a meeting with my dissertation adviser. A professor whom I had never met saw me, and, being an outgoing, friendly type, he proceeded to tell me about his daughter who was expecting, to tell me that two children is sufficient because that's one for each knee, and a number of other things that I have now forgotten. He asked me if I had any other children, and, as I responded affirmatively, he asked slyly, "They're not Irish twins, are they?" Now, I thought cluelessly, my husband is part Irish, but I'm not. Obviously, I had no idea what Irish twins are. Asked to explain, he informed me that Irish twins were siblings born within one year--which, of course, would be unlikely given the likelihood that impoverished Irish Catholics (he wasn't talking about Orangemen, after all) would be breastfed. A few minutes later, he repeated the joke for the benefit of my officemate, herself raised Catholic, and we agreed with good-natured disapproval that this was a thinly-veiled Catholic joke.
The joke evokes nineteenth-century immigrants with families of 5-12 children, overworked women, shabby brown clothing, tenement housing, clothes lines--you get the picture. So my question is, how do contemporary intellectual Catholic women deal with such a situation? Over the past couple of years, I have had at least three friends ask themselves this question in one way or another. All were working, one a Ph.D. student. Two were using NFP and one not. In these situations, "oops-s" or "what the heck" moments inevitably happen. So then what? One friend had been married for long enough that she could easily pass it off as "we've been trying" or "we were ready," or whatever. One friend decided that since she had been married for less than a year and people had just given her presents, she would ask not to have a baby shower.
This question comes to mind for a couple of reasons. First, well, people ask the most audacious questions! When I was pregnant last, the father of one of my son's friends from school saw us in Target, expressed surprise, and asked, "Were you trying, or was this a surprise?" One of the aforementioned friends remarked, as we discussed similar such remarks, "Do they realize that they're asking you whether you're having sex?"
O.K., so people are nosey. But it goes beyond that. In certain circles, it is just the unspoken rule that you should space your children according to your career goals. Hence, one female professor mentioning that her youngest was her "tenure baby," though it was unclear if he was the result of the celebrating, or her award for accomplishing the task! Within a year of my entering the M.A. program, one of my professors had her "last chance" baby, and two months after I had my daughter, my almost-adviser had her post-tenure baby. Others waited--and advised their grad students to wait--not until tenure, but until getting the tenure-track job. Recently, the female grad students in the department have decided that A.B.D. is a convenient time to have children, a decision I support wholeheartedly, obviously! But there is still somewhat of an unspoken consensus that children are to be spaced rather further apart that one to two years. While my "spacing"--a new baby with a 7-year-old--drew attention from a school dad (also a professional, incidently, but a professional father), spacing children every two years (considered ideal by those who are actively growing their families) is a professional faux pas. So what about Catholic professional/academic mothers?
Some, of course, believe that these terms are contradictory, and I could point you to the blogs to prove it. My friend who works at a Catholic high school has been condescendingly treated to the casual assumption that she would not be returning to work--EVER--by her colleagues for the last several months. But the role of Catholic women in the family is not my purpose for this post. Rather, I am embarrassed to admit that popular opinion is my concern.
Morality and Church teaching aside (though very much bound up with this post, as I hope is obvious), "accidents" are for teenagers, low-income households, minorities, and Catholics? All of these are stereotypes, but stereotypes which the average enlightened intellectual holds in the deep recesses of her politically correct heart. Just look at Amanda Marcotte.
This begs the question. . . Do married Catholic women really not belong in the workplace? This question is rhetorical. I do not expect an answer. Rather I am using the question to imply its answer--that of course married Catholic women belong in the workplace, if they so choose! So then, what about the "oops" factor? NFP "works," but people have different levels of resistance, and error and the Will of God are always factors! ;) Perhaps married Catholic females belong in the workplace to enlighten the masses, and should cling to the beatitudes for encouragement: that those who suffer mockery in the name of holiness will have their reward. But if asked, "You're pregnant again?" that's hardly an answer that will satisfy the average enlightened intellectual, provided the discussion occurs openly rather than in a series of sneers and snickers (yes, I am hard on my fellow academics). I have even encountered resistance to the motherhood-academic combination in Catholic academic circles (circles formed to discuss the intersection of faith and professional life!), so how much more should secular academics resist the Catholic academic's attempt to live her marriage faithfully, understanding its possible consequences (blessings)?
Large families and accidents--Catholic stereotypes both. Neither FEMLA, nor tenure procedures, nor enlightened liberalism allows for those realities. I don't know the answer, and I hate a cliff-hanger post. I further hate admitting that the sneering disturbs me. But it does. So while married professional women wait to reproduce until they reach their goals, what does the Catholic woman do? Stay home? Or not marry until after tenure/promotion?
The joke evokes nineteenth-century immigrants with families of 5-12 children, overworked women, shabby brown clothing, tenement housing, clothes lines--you get the picture. So my question is, how do contemporary intellectual Catholic women deal with such a situation? Over the past couple of years, I have had at least three friends ask themselves this question in one way or another. All were working, one a Ph.D. student. Two were using NFP and one not. In these situations, "oops-s" or "what the heck" moments inevitably happen. So then what? One friend had been married for long enough that she could easily pass it off as "we've been trying" or "we were ready," or whatever. One friend decided that since she had been married for less than a year and people had just given her presents, she would ask not to have a baby shower.
This question comes to mind for a couple of reasons. First, well, people ask the most audacious questions! When I was pregnant last, the father of one of my son's friends from school saw us in Target, expressed surprise, and asked, "Were you trying, or was this a surprise?" One of the aforementioned friends remarked, as we discussed similar such remarks, "Do they realize that they're asking you whether you're having sex?"
O.K., so people are nosey. But it goes beyond that. In certain circles, it is just the unspoken rule that you should space your children according to your career goals. Hence, one female professor mentioning that her youngest was her "tenure baby," though it was unclear if he was the result of the celebrating, or her award for accomplishing the task! Within a year of my entering the M.A. program, one of my professors had her "last chance" baby, and two months after I had my daughter, my almost-adviser had her post-tenure baby. Others waited--and advised their grad students to wait--not until tenure, but until getting the tenure-track job. Recently, the female grad students in the department have decided that A.B.D. is a convenient time to have children, a decision I support wholeheartedly, obviously! But there is still somewhat of an unspoken consensus that children are to be spaced rather further apart that one to two years. While my "spacing"--a new baby with a 7-year-old--drew attention from a school dad (also a professional, incidently, but a professional father), spacing children every two years (considered ideal by those who are actively growing their families) is a professional faux pas. So what about Catholic professional/academic mothers?
Some, of course, believe that these terms are contradictory, and I could point you to the blogs to prove it. My friend who works at a Catholic high school has been condescendingly treated to the casual assumption that she would not be returning to work--EVER--by her colleagues for the last several months. But the role of Catholic women in the family is not my purpose for this post. Rather, I am embarrassed to admit that popular opinion is my concern.
Morality and Church teaching aside (though very much bound up with this post, as I hope is obvious), "accidents" are for teenagers, low-income households, minorities, and Catholics? All of these are stereotypes, but stereotypes which the average enlightened intellectual holds in the deep recesses of her politically correct heart. Just look at Amanda Marcotte.
This begs the question. . . Do married Catholic women really not belong in the workplace? This question is rhetorical. I do not expect an answer. Rather I am using the question to imply its answer--that of course married Catholic women belong in the workplace, if they so choose! So then, what about the "oops" factor? NFP "works," but people have different levels of resistance, and error and the Will of God are always factors! ;) Perhaps married Catholic females belong in the workplace to enlighten the masses, and should cling to the beatitudes for encouragement: that those who suffer mockery in the name of holiness will have their reward. But if asked, "You're pregnant again?" that's hardly an answer that will satisfy the average enlightened intellectual, provided the discussion occurs openly rather than in a series of sneers and snickers (yes, I am hard on my fellow academics). I have even encountered resistance to the motherhood-academic combination in Catholic academic circles (circles formed to discuss the intersection of faith and professional life!), so how much more should secular academics resist the Catholic academic's attempt to live her marriage faithfully, understanding its possible consequences (blessings)?
Large families and accidents--Catholic stereotypes both. Neither FEMLA, nor tenure procedures, nor enlightened liberalism allows for those realities. I don't know the answer, and I hate a cliff-hanger post. I further hate admitting that the sneering disturbs me. But it does. So while married professional women wait to reproduce until they reach their goals, what does the Catholic woman do? Stay home? Or not marry until after tenure/promotion?
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Beyond Fish Sticks: Quick Lenten Meals #1
I thought I might share some favorite meatless recipes as I think of them. I only ask that no one decide to, you know, enter any Food Network Challenges or anything, because I might have to ask for a share of the prize money! ;) But seriously, this is my recipe for "Quick Crab Creole," as I like to call it, and while there is a lot of "to taste" involved here, this gives you a basic idea of how I make the dish.
Quick Crab Creole
1 onion, finely chopped
1-2 Tbsp butter
2 pouches real lump crab meat
1/2-1 can tomato paste
1/2-1 c milk or cream (the fattier the better, but skim will do in a pinch)
salt, pepper, and cayenne to taste
2-3 c cooked rice (Texmati is mighty nice)
1. Melt the butter over low heat. Sauté the onion in the butter until onion is more or less transparent. Add a few dashes of cayenne and black pepper. NOTE: Salt does help the onions to "wilt" somewhat, but as there is salt in the crab pouches, you might just want to do the salting at the end. Also, be aware that the "heat level" of the cayenne increases as it cooks--don't overdo it!
2. Add the crab from pouches, including the crabby liquid, which imparts a good amount of flavor. You might add a bit of water to the pouch & swish around to get the crab bits that are stuck to the sides of the pouch. Cook until most of the liquid has evaporated off, then add a bit more water, probably about 1/2 cup.
3. Add the tomato paste to the crab and onion. Remember that tomato paste is a thickener. If you want to stretch the crab in this dish (which can be kind of pricey) add the whole can. If you want a more intense, concentrated crab flavor and smaller portions, add 1/2 a can (the flavor is good either way). Work the tomato paste into the liquid, integrating the solids and breaking up clumps of crab. The final texture should include crab "strings," not lumps.
4. Add the milk--again, if you use less tomato paste for more concentrated crab (that is, more that you can feel in your mouth), you will use less milk. The dish should be a nice creamy-orange color. Theoretically, it could probably be thinned into something like a bisque, but I suspect you would need more crab to make that work. This should probably be about the consistency of your favorite pasta sauce or a little thinner, to go over rice.
5. Once you have added the milk, cover and continue to let the sauce simmer so that the flavors blend. It is basically ready at this point, but it's good to wait another minute or two.
6. Serve over rice & enjoy!!
I would estimate that you can get about 6 generous servings, but "portion control" is an unknown phrase to me. This would be about 6 bowls' worth as poured over a generous 1/2 cup of rice or so.
Let me know if you try it!
Quick Crab Creole
1 onion, finely chopped
1-2 Tbsp butter
2 pouches real lump crab meat
1/2-1 can tomato paste
1/2-1 c milk or cream (the fattier the better, but skim will do in a pinch)
salt, pepper, and cayenne to taste
2-3 c cooked rice (Texmati is mighty nice)
1. Melt the butter over low heat. Sauté the onion in the butter until onion is more or less transparent. Add a few dashes of cayenne and black pepper. NOTE: Salt does help the onions to "wilt" somewhat, but as there is salt in the crab pouches, you might just want to do the salting at the end. Also, be aware that the "heat level" of the cayenne increases as it cooks--don't overdo it!
2. Add the crab from pouches, including the crabby liquid, which imparts a good amount of flavor. You might add a bit of water to the pouch & swish around to get the crab bits that are stuck to the sides of the pouch. Cook until most of the liquid has evaporated off, then add a bit more water, probably about 1/2 cup.
3. Add the tomato paste to the crab and onion. Remember that tomato paste is a thickener. If you want to stretch the crab in this dish (which can be kind of pricey) add the whole can. If you want a more intense, concentrated crab flavor and smaller portions, add 1/2 a can (the flavor is good either way). Work the tomato paste into the liquid, integrating the solids and breaking up clumps of crab. The final texture should include crab "strings," not lumps.
4. Add the milk--again, if you use less tomato paste for more concentrated crab (that is, more that you can feel in your mouth), you will use less milk. The dish should be a nice creamy-orange color. Theoretically, it could probably be thinned into something like a bisque, but I suspect you would need more crab to make that work. This should probably be about the consistency of your favorite pasta sauce or a little thinner, to go over rice.
5. Once you have added the milk, cover and continue to let the sauce simmer so that the flavors blend. It is basically ready at this point, but it's good to wait another minute or two.
6. Serve over rice & enjoy!!
I would estimate that you can get about 6 generous servings, but "portion control" is an unknown phrase to me. This would be about 6 bowls' worth as poured over a generous 1/2 cup of rice or so.
Let me know if you try it!
An Inspired Idea
Courtesy, once again, of Darwin Catholic: Lenten Mediations on the Divine Comedy. The idea is to rediscover the spiritual purpose of Dante's work. As I wrote in the comment section of this blog, the Commedia is one of two creative works that I credit with my own conversion--the other being Lord of the Rings. The Commedia is, at its root, an intensely, even tangibly spiritual work. It is also one of the first works that got me to think in a serious way about reading--in this case, misreading. The Commedia is as much a work about the Christian way of reading, which leads one closer to God rather than providing distractions--as opposed to the pagan way of reading represented by Virgil (though he is an enlightened, proto-Christian pagan poet)--as it is about spiritual salvation. As a poet, the joining of the two was essential to Dante (a man who knew his vocation!). I will be looking forward to this blog, as it is sure to be insightful!
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Book Notes: The People of Sparks
A week or so ago I finished reading The People of Sparks, which is the Second Book of Ember, a series that began with The City of Ember, which I mention here, here, and here. Obviously, the first book was interesting enough to merit reading the second, and once again, I was fairly pleasantly surprised. It was not as good as the first, but avoided the didacticism I feared in a book about rebuilding civilization after an apocalypse, particularly one written post-9/11. However, a couple of features of the book merit a brief mention.
Towards the end of The People of Sparks, I had a revelation, as I did at the end of The City of Ember. However, while The City of Ember evoked Plato, The People of Sparks evoked no less illustrious an author than Dr. Seuss. Now, I love Dr. Seuss, but was surprised when, likely by no conscious design of the author, I considered the moment when the people from two competing cities were, to their own eyes and to each other, indistinguishable, and thought, "The Star-Bellied Sneetches"! This moment in the book, the moment of resolution, was rather simplistic. We are building to a crisis that could result in war. One or two individuals are trying to provoke the war (or at least failing to see a solution other than violence) while one or two are trying to prevent the war. In the tense moment before the violence--or perhaps in the tense moment after the onset of violence--a disaster occurs that threatens to destroy the livelihood of one group. This presents the perfect opportunity for a "joining together," spurred by the bravery of one individual.
Now, the actions involved were noble, but it does beg the question, which, ideally, should be considered by the reader--what would have happened had the disaster not occurred? Likely violence. So does this mean that it requires a disaster for the proactive individual to take the step--doing good instead of evil, or at least avoiding doing evil--that is necessary for the prevention of violence? This strikes me as a bit of the Deus Ex Machina. I would have liked to see the people work things out without near-divine intervention (or pure chance, which frequently substitutes for the divine).
Another rather surprising element of the book, in retrospect, is the almost complete lack of heterosexual pairings--there are no traditional families! Well, O.K., there's one. But we do not feel this to be the norm. Admittedly, there are displaced persons (better not to call them refugees) who have to create alternate living arrangements for the sake of space, but among these, there are many young people who are mentioned independent of any parental figures (not wholly unknown in children's fiction). The "families" are generally single-parent. The main characters have a father on the one hand (an entirely male family of two), and a foster-mother and a sister on the other hand (an entirely female family of three). These alternative families existed in the first book, but events at the end of the second book throw them into sharp relief.
One alternative family arrangement consists of a single doctor and her neglected orphan nephew. Our heroine, her sister, and their guardian move in with the doctor and her nephew. There is another nephew, a "roamer," who is the apple of his little brother's eye. When he arrives with a female "partner" (in roaming), things begin to go awry. However, the "partner" considers him unfit for companionship, which, indeed, he is--but he didn't have to be. This was a creative choice on the part of the author. So this non-traditional female escaping from her home city, a failing city, joins forces with our own heroine, and befriends her. So far, so good. Eventually, this large, soft-spoken female joins with the other large, soft-spoken female--the former greenhouse keeper--to become her apprentice and learn about growing plants.
At nearly every turn, heterosexual unions--or close heterosexual friendships--are avoided. There is even a teeny-bopper who falls in love with the most charming male present, usually a sweet-talking con-man or rabble-rouser, who clearly signals the dangers of charismatic men and unchecked heterosexual attraction (not a bad message, and one that can also be found in Louisa May Alcott). The notable example is the hero and heroine, who remain (wonderfully, in my opinion) good friends with no hint of a pre-adolescent romance.
In contrast to the other books intended for this age range, which are largely over-sexual, this can be seen as a significant improvement. However, the lack of viable heterosexual couples remains troubling, particularly for a civilization that is trying to rebuild itself. In the declining City of Ember, where dysfunction would have been understandable, there is nevertheless more of a "feeling" of family unity. I suppose we are to surmise that the hope of the future rests with the pre-adolescent generation, which is fitting for a pre-adolescent book with post-adolescent appeal.
Towards the end of The People of Sparks, I had a revelation, as I did at the end of The City of Ember. However, while The City of Ember evoked Plato, The People of Sparks evoked no less illustrious an author than Dr. Seuss. Now, I love Dr. Seuss, but was surprised when, likely by no conscious design of the author, I considered the moment when the people from two competing cities were, to their own eyes and to each other, indistinguishable, and thought, "The Star-Bellied Sneetches"! This moment in the book, the moment of resolution, was rather simplistic. We are building to a crisis that could result in war. One or two individuals are trying to provoke the war (or at least failing to see a solution other than violence) while one or two are trying to prevent the war. In the tense moment before the violence--or perhaps in the tense moment after the onset of violence--a disaster occurs that threatens to destroy the livelihood of one group. This presents the perfect opportunity for a "joining together," spurred by the bravery of one individual.
Now, the actions involved were noble, but it does beg the question, which, ideally, should be considered by the reader--what would have happened had the disaster not occurred? Likely violence. So does this mean that it requires a disaster for the proactive individual to take the step--doing good instead of evil, or at least avoiding doing evil--that is necessary for the prevention of violence? This strikes me as a bit of the Deus Ex Machina. I would have liked to see the people work things out without near-divine intervention (or pure chance, which frequently substitutes for the divine).
Another rather surprising element of the book, in retrospect, is the almost complete lack of heterosexual pairings--there are no traditional families! Well, O.K., there's one. But we do not feel this to be the norm. Admittedly, there are displaced persons (better not to call them refugees) who have to create alternate living arrangements for the sake of space, but among these, there are many young people who are mentioned independent of any parental figures (not wholly unknown in children's fiction). The "families" are generally single-parent. The main characters have a father on the one hand (an entirely male family of two), and a foster-mother and a sister on the other hand (an entirely female family of three). These alternative families existed in the first book, but events at the end of the second book throw them into sharp relief.
One alternative family arrangement consists of a single doctor and her neglected orphan nephew. Our heroine, her sister, and their guardian move in with the doctor and her nephew. There is another nephew, a "roamer," who is the apple of his little brother's eye. When he arrives with a female "partner" (in roaming), things begin to go awry. However, the "partner" considers him unfit for companionship, which, indeed, he is--but he didn't have to be. This was a creative choice on the part of the author. So this non-traditional female escaping from her home city, a failing city, joins forces with our own heroine, and befriends her. So far, so good. Eventually, this large, soft-spoken female joins with the other large, soft-spoken female--the former greenhouse keeper--to become her apprentice and learn about growing plants.
At nearly every turn, heterosexual unions--or close heterosexual friendships--are avoided. There is even a teeny-bopper who falls in love with the most charming male present, usually a sweet-talking con-man or rabble-rouser, who clearly signals the dangers of charismatic men and unchecked heterosexual attraction (not a bad message, and one that can also be found in Louisa May Alcott). The notable example is the hero and heroine, who remain (wonderfully, in my opinion) good friends with no hint of a pre-adolescent romance.
In contrast to the other books intended for this age range, which are largely over-sexual, this can be seen as a significant improvement. However, the lack of viable heterosexual couples remains troubling, particularly for a civilization that is trying to rebuild itself. In the declining City of Ember, where dysfunction would have been understandable, there is nevertheless more of a "feeling" of family unity. I suppose we are to surmise that the hope of the future rests with the pre-adolescent generation, which is fitting for a pre-adolescent book with post-adolescent appeal.
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday
Since I'm in Texas (and not in Galveston), Mardi Gras isn't a big deal, though I will be subjecting my students to some Louisiana, New Orleans, and Mardi-Gras-specific images for our continuing discussion of Visual Rhetoric tonight. In lieu of festivities (though I might be persuaded to go to my favorite seafood restaurant for a pre-Lent shrimp-fest), here is a list of 10 things I will NOT be giving up for Lent:
Lenten meditations more solemn than this one to follow. . .
- blogs (reading and writing)
- teaching
- grading
- writing the dissertation
- cooking supper (occasionally)
- laundry
- Jane Austen DVDs (especially Pride and Prejudice--the A&E version)
- SHRIMP! (I did one year and it nearly killed me!)
- involvement in my son's education (even if it does kill me!)
Lenten meditations more solemn than this one to follow. . .
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Great Moments in Literacy
A video worth watching is posted on the Ironic Catholic blog. I couldn't get the darn thing on my blog, though...
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Happy St. Valentine's!
I figure with the rest of the world trying to shorten "Valentine's" to "V," either to resemble the similarly shortened the "V" Monologues (and thus make Valentine's Day a celebration of that anatomical morsel), to remove traces of the saint for whom the day is named, or from the sheer linguistic laziness that is so prevalent, especially in electronic media, I will keep the "Saint" and the "Valentine" and forget the "Day"--at least in my title.
Actually, I almost did forget the day! It's been an exhausting week since last Wednesday, when my daughter developed a stomach virus right before beginning her Amoxil for an earache. So today, since things have calmed down and for the first time since last Tuesday, I was the only one home (my husband was also sick for a few days & I was happy to have him home, but not happy that he was unwell!), I tried to get back in my routine while getting a little emotional rest & reading the book I've been working on for pleasure. It occurred to me mid-morning that it was Valentine's Day, something I remembered before going to bed (after midnight), but had forgotten by the morning.
Valentine's Day is a curious holiday for me. In spite of its origin with a saint who was martyred for his covert celebration of sacramental marriage, it seems to be largely enjoyed by a category of people best described as single-yet-attached. It is a holiday peopled by clueless men. It is the holiday of expectant or disappointed women, of expectant or disappointed men. These thoughts occurred to me while driving around this evening among the flurry of excitement, or walking around stores observing the last minute purchases--and purchasers.
When my husband & I first found each other, we shared a mutual dislike of the holiday, having never had someone to share it with. We therefore threw ourselves into it the purchasing of gifts and cards with gusto our first few years. There was one year of disappointment after our first child was born, as I was unable to go shopping and regretfully, did not manage to contrive a gift. This post was intended to be about my changing attitude towards the holiday: the fluctuation from dislike to excitement, to sentimentality, to something not quite resembling apathy--more the quiet feeling that accompanies the opportunity to appreciate having someone that I love deeply, while acknowledging that cards and gifts do not have the power to express this love (especially after the anniversary of our Convalidation in October, his birthday in November, Christmas in December, my birthday in January. . . we're gifted out by this time!). This was how I envisioned the Valentine post this afternoon, as I sat rocking my baby to sleep: I was going to commemorate the holiday by downplaying it a bit, mentioning the beauty of everyday love and the hassle and expense of finding babysitters.
My intentions changed when, as I was sitting on our futon reading, my husband walked in with a dozen pink roses. It really is amazing how moving a small gesture can be, and it was all the more moving since, unlike the multitudes of women who woke up this morning or went out this evening, I had not expected it!
We moved through the rest of the evening doing ordinary things: we went to dinner (with the kids!), went to Target to buy ourselves iTunes cards, ran in to a store or two for essentials. An ordinary, yet extraordinary, romantic evening.
Actually, I almost did forget the day! It's been an exhausting week since last Wednesday, when my daughter developed a stomach virus right before beginning her Amoxil for an earache. So today, since things have calmed down and for the first time since last Tuesday, I was the only one home (my husband was also sick for a few days & I was happy to have him home, but not happy that he was unwell!), I tried to get back in my routine while getting a little emotional rest & reading the book I've been working on for pleasure. It occurred to me mid-morning that it was Valentine's Day, something I remembered before going to bed (after midnight), but had forgotten by the morning.
Valentine's Day is a curious holiday for me. In spite of its origin with a saint who was martyred for his covert celebration of sacramental marriage, it seems to be largely enjoyed by a category of people best described as single-yet-attached. It is a holiday peopled by clueless men. It is the holiday of expectant or disappointed women, of expectant or disappointed men. These thoughts occurred to me while driving around this evening among the flurry of excitement, or walking around stores observing the last minute purchases--and purchasers.
When my husband & I first found each other, we shared a mutual dislike of the holiday, having never had someone to share it with. We therefore threw ourselves into it the purchasing of gifts and cards with gusto our first few years. There was one year of disappointment after our first child was born, as I was unable to go shopping and regretfully, did not manage to contrive a gift. This post was intended to be about my changing attitude towards the holiday: the fluctuation from dislike to excitement, to sentimentality, to something not quite resembling apathy--more the quiet feeling that accompanies the opportunity to appreciate having someone that I love deeply, while acknowledging that cards and gifts do not have the power to express this love (especially after the anniversary of our Convalidation in October, his birthday in November, Christmas in December, my birthday in January. . . we're gifted out by this time!). This was how I envisioned the Valentine post this afternoon, as I sat rocking my baby to sleep: I was going to commemorate the holiday by downplaying it a bit, mentioning the beauty of everyday love and the hassle and expense of finding babysitters.
My intentions changed when, as I was sitting on our futon reading, my husband walked in with a dozen pink roses. It really is amazing how moving a small gesture can be, and it was all the more moving since, unlike the multitudes of women who woke up this morning or went out this evening, I had not expected it!
We moved through the rest of the evening doing ordinary things: we went to dinner (with the kids!), went to Target to buy ourselves iTunes cards, ran in to a store or two for essentials. An ordinary, yet extraordinary, romantic evening.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Sometimes I hate this
What is it about blogs that draw me in? I think I will be taking a break for a while. I've been composing an entry that I call "Skirting the Issue" about people who narrowly define what is "feminine." It is in response to this post and, to a lesser degree, this post, which includes the following comment from a reader:
It's important to also remember that the Tridentine does not allow disruptions such as the laity hand-shake/kissy face/hugging fiesta, nor does it have the holding hands Protestant innovation during the Our Father, no musical instruments other than the Organ, only sacred music or Gregorian chant and polyphony; no women on the altar, kneeling reverently to receive Blessed Sacrament only on the tongue, no talking in Church, only reverent dress, no slacks for women, etc. (emphasis mine)
I have become caught up with thinking about the issue of traditionalizing femininity, especially in a Catholic context, and I am frustrated that, for one thing, so many of the blogs I am reading voice this opinion in one way or the other. I have become inarticulate about the matter. Luckily I know that the Church in no way endorses the attitudes that these bloggers/serial commenters represent. Rather, they are viewing the theology narrowly, for their own ends, and defending/asserting their claims with narrow-minded arguments and persuasive techniques (the type I teach my Freshman to analyze, then to avoid). This is not my last word on the matter, but I don't want to spend the time and effort on the response right now, as I am tired from a long weekend of caring for a sick baby, and I don't think my blood pressure can stand the stress. What I object to most are the personal attacks and misrepresentation--after all, if I disagree slightly, I am the enemy--emblem of all they are fighting against. This has ceased to be fun for me right now.
It's important to also remember that the Tridentine does not allow disruptions such as the laity hand-shake/kissy face/hugging fiesta, nor does it have the holding hands Protestant innovation during the Our Father, no musical instruments other than the Organ, only sacred music or Gregorian chant and polyphony; no women on the altar, kneeling reverently to receive Blessed Sacrament only on the tongue, no talking in Church, only reverent dress, no slacks for women, etc. (emphasis mine)
I have become caught up with thinking about the issue of traditionalizing femininity, especially in a Catholic context, and I am frustrated that, for one thing, so many of the blogs I am reading voice this opinion in one way or the other. I have become inarticulate about the matter. Luckily I know that the Church in no way endorses the attitudes that these bloggers/serial commenters represent. Rather, they are viewing the theology narrowly, for their own ends, and defending/asserting their claims with narrow-minded arguments and persuasive techniques (the type I teach my Freshman to analyze, then to avoid). This is not my last word on the matter, but I don't want to spend the time and effort on the response right now, as I am tired from a long weekend of caring for a sick baby, and I don't think my blood pressure can stand the stress. What I object to most are the personal attacks and misrepresentation--after all, if I disagree slightly, I am the enemy--emblem of all they are fighting against. This has ceased to be fun for me right now.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Blog Evolution, Genesis, and Science Fiction
One of the wonders of blogging is the ways that various streams of discourse merge and branch off again, merging, converging, flowing and continuing in other forms. Perhaps its a new version of the immortality that Shakespeare noted with the advent of print--then, the writer was immortal, but preserved in presumably changeless form (unless you consider the horrendous mistakes, printing and editorial liberties, rewriting, etc. that ran rampant in early printing history). In the blogosphere, the evolution of thought--how one influences another, how it continues in new form--creates that kind of monument to the original author, but in a less sterile manner, as the thought inspires creativity rather than existing for itself and the original author alone.
This rather circuitous late-night theorizing is occasioned by my decision to post in response to some thought I gleaned from DarwinCatholic's post on Coulter, Evolution, and Catholicism, which, in fact, I requested because of a post on Roman Catholic Blog.
In the course of explaining the compatibility of evolutionary theory and Catholicism, answering the question that I found most interesting, Darwin explores some of the oddity of Genesis--the items that complicate the traditional children's storybook version of Creation, namely, the presence of humanoid creatures and the question of who Adam's & Eve's offspring married. Darwin writes:
The idea of there being other human-ish creatures wandering the Earth at the same time as Adam and Eve doesn't fit well with the standard Sunday school version of the story, but the Bible itself is slightly odder than the children's version. Recall that at several point in the early chapters of Genesis people are mentioned as going off and interbreeding with other creatures (giants, 'the sons of heaven', etc.) Indeed, after the initial description of the time in the garden itself, one doesn't necessarily get the impression that Adam and Eve are alone in the world. (Why, for instance, does Cain fear that when he is banished people will kill him? He's just killed one of the four named people in the world up to that point, and the other two are his parents.) Rather, Adam and Eve seem to be described tribally: as the tribe of true humans, but not necessarily the only creatures on Earth. Now, the idea of early (ensouled) humans interbreeding with (soul-less) human-ish creatures is unappealing. But then, the idea of Adam and Eve's children having no options other than incest isn't exactly appealing either.
My knowledge of this part of Genesis derives from C. S. Lewis who, in the Chronicles of Narnia, makes reference to the "first wife" of Adam--Lilith, mother of giants and jinns and other human-like or half human creatures. (While Lilith is from the Kabbalah, my investigation of Lilith led to other discoveries.) Interestingly, in Prince Caspian, one of Lewis's characters states that while humans may be good or evil, human-like creatures, things that should be human, used to be human, but aren't, are always involved with evil. I guess that's why it was O.K. for Adam to divorce Lilith! In Out of the Silent Planet, the race of creatures is not humanoid; in Perelandra, by contrast, he creates a race of green (new? fresh? innocent? untested?) humanoid beings who succeed where Adam and Eve failed, and successfully avoid the Fall. This is not a C. S. Lewis post, but I was reminded of Lewis at several points.
Initially, as I commented on Darwin's blog, the intermarriage of ensouled and soul-less humans reminded me of a plot from Star Trek or perhaps the novels of Robert Heinlein--Methuselah's Children comes to mind, and not because of the Biblical allusion in the title! However, this concept was problematized for me by commenter CMinor, who writes:
Likewise I can see why we might find the thought of souled humans interbreeding with unsouled humans unsettling from our position in time, but I'm not sure it's a rational concern. As souls are not externally discernible, there's no reason to assume that souled and unsouled humans would be any different in any other respects, to include intelligence and behavior. The sole (no pun intended--really) difference could be that souled humans had a point of contact with God not available to unsouled humans.
I believe I was more comfortable with the idea of unsouled and souled humans (or human-like creatures, if humans are defined by the possession of a soul) interbreeding when I imagined the unsouled humans being somehow different--lower on the evolutionary scale, perhaps, to which CMinor also alludes by mentioning the evidence that Neanderthal and Homo Sapiens interbred (intermarried?). Considering the idea of humanoids equally intelligent as ourselves who merely had no "point of contact" with God--or maybe a different point of contact with God?--reminds me hauntingly of the destroyed planet in Arthur C. Clarke's "The Star," which (in the story) provided the light by which the wise men found the Christ child (sorry for the spoiler). The story is profound and beautiful, if in a profoundly beautifully troubling way. With the planet, an advanced humanoid race capable of artistic expression and technological development has been destroyed, presumably to provide the light announcing the Incarnation. The narrator and ship's science officer is a Jesuit priest who must decide, at the end and beyond the borders of the story, whether to reveal this calculation.
I once had a heated debate with a professor and a room full of undergrads over whether or not the story makes an ultimate condemnation of religion. Others maintained that in the context of the story, either God did not exist, or God was evil. I felt certain that there could be a theological answer to this that did not include either of the two aforementioned conclusions. Is this the answer?
Theorizing theological responses to science fiction, albeit theologically reaching science fiction, aside. . . What would be the implications of soul-less and ensouled humans (or humanoids, in the case of the former) marrying or interbreeding? In the Old Testament we already have the history of a people who were chosen by God as special, set apart from other people. In the New Testament, it is revealed that the Incarnation of the Son of Man is for all people (see my post on Epiphany!). So, then, is the ensouling of Adam and Eve the first "choosing" of God from among His creation? First, He chose a very select group, from whom we inherit Original Sin; then, He chose a race, the Hebrews, the Isrealites, from among those who interbred with the soul-less humanoids; finally, in a late stage of our development, He chose to give to all people the opportunity to choose Him (I would have to suggest that we already had the capacity to choose, but without knowledge of religious Truth, our Free Will--on which I am not the expert, see An Examined Life on Free Will--was not, perhaps, as relevant as it later became with reference to our spirituality).
Returning to science fiction, then, the planet in "The Star" is peopled with the non-chosen. By contrast, although his fantasy repudiates the humanoid as anthropomorphic evil, C. S. Lewis's science fiction "other worlds" are populated with ensouled beings--humanoid and non-humanoid alike. For Lewis, all are "chosen."
Does this bring us any closer to theological or evolutionary truth? Not really. But it does demonstrate the ways in which literature is a working out of various theories of the authors, and further demonstrates the beauty of reading, and the ways in which literate activity affects the consciousness, opening the psyche to the possibility of things beyond our narrow experience. Literature invites us to come in without wiping our muddy boots, allows us to muck around a bit, trying out our ideas in new context, or trying its ideas on for size. When we leave, we are invited to take what we want before moving on--or not. Now that's hospitality! (So much for the literacy plug!)
Finally, I agree with CMinor, who says that we must "let God be God."
This rather circuitous late-night theorizing is occasioned by my decision to post in response to some thought I gleaned from DarwinCatholic's post on Coulter, Evolution, and Catholicism, which, in fact, I requested because of a post on Roman Catholic Blog.
In the course of explaining the compatibility of evolutionary theory and Catholicism, answering the question that I found most interesting, Darwin explores some of the oddity of Genesis--the items that complicate the traditional children's storybook version of Creation, namely, the presence of humanoid creatures and the question of who Adam's & Eve's offspring married. Darwin writes:
The idea of there being other human-ish creatures wandering the Earth at the same time as Adam and Eve doesn't fit well with the standard Sunday school version of the story, but the Bible itself is slightly odder than the children's version. Recall that at several point in the early chapters of Genesis people are mentioned as going off and interbreeding with other creatures (giants, 'the sons of heaven', etc.) Indeed, after the initial description of the time in the garden itself, one doesn't necessarily get the impression that Adam and Eve are alone in the world. (Why, for instance, does Cain fear that when he is banished people will kill him? He's just killed one of the four named people in the world up to that point, and the other two are his parents.) Rather, Adam and Eve seem to be described tribally: as the tribe of true humans, but not necessarily the only creatures on Earth. Now, the idea of early (ensouled) humans interbreeding with (soul-less) human-ish creatures is unappealing. But then, the idea of Adam and Eve's children having no options other than incest isn't exactly appealing either.
My knowledge of this part of Genesis derives from C. S. Lewis who, in the Chronicles of Narnia, makes reference to the "first wife" of Adam--Lilith, mother of giants and jinns and other human-like or half human creatures. (While Lilith is from the Kabbalah, my investigation of Lilith led to other discoveries.) Interestingly, in Prince Caspian, one of Lewis's characters states that while humans may be good or evil, human-like creatures, things that should be human, used to be human, but aren't, are always involved with evil. I guess that's why it was O.K. for Adam to divorce Lilith! In Out of the Silent Planet, the race of creatures is not humanoid; in Perelandra, by contrast, he creates a race of green (new? fresh? innocent? untested?) humanoid beings who succeed where Adam and Eve failed, and successfully avoid the Fall. This is not a C. S. Lewis post, but I was reminded of Lewis at several points.
Initially, as I commented on Darwin's blog, the intermarriage of ensouled and soul-less humans reminded me of a plot from Star Trek or perhaps the novels of Robert Heinlein--Methuselah's Children comes to mind, and not because of the Biblical allusion in the title! However, this concept was problematized for me by commenter CMinor, who writes:
Likewise I can see why we might find the thought of souled humans interbreeding with unsouled humans unsettling from our position in time, but I'm not sure it's a rational concern. As souls are not externally discernible, there's no reason to assume that souled and unsouled humans would be any different in any other respects, to include intelligence and behavior. The sole (no pun intended--really) difference could be that souled humans had a point of contact with God not available to unsouled humans.
I believe I was more comfortable with the idea of unsouled and souled humans (or human-like creatures, if humans are defined by the possession of a soul) interbreeding when I imagined the unsouled humans being somehow different--lower on the evolutionary scale, perhaps, to which CMinor also alludes by mentioning the evidence that Neanderthal and Homo Sapiens interbred (intermarried?). Considering the idea of humanoids equally intelligent as ourselves who merely had no "point of contact" with God--or maybe a different point of contact with God?--reminds me hauntingly of the destroyed planet in Arthur C. Clarke's "The Star," which (in the story) provided the light by which the wise men found the Christ child (sorry for the spoiler). The story is profound and beautiful, if in a profoundly beautifully troubling way. With the planet, an advanced humanoid race capable of artistic expression and technological development has been destroyed, presumably to provide the light announcing the Incarnation. The narrator and ship's science officer is a Jesuit priest who must decide, at the end and beyond the borders of the story, whether to reveal this calculation.
I once had a heated debate with a professor and a room full of undergrads over whether or not the story makes an ultimate condemnation of religion. Others maintained that in the context of the story, either God did not exist, or God was evil. I felt certain that there could be a theological answer to this that did not include either of the two aforementioned conclusions. Is this the answer?
Theorizing theological responses to science fiction, albeit theologically reaching science fiction, aside. . . What would be the implications of soul-less and ensouled humans (or humanoids, in the case of the former) marrying or interbreeding? In the Old Testament we already have the history of a people who were chosen by God as special, set apart from other people. In the New Testament, it is revealed that the Incarnation of the Son of Man is for all people (see my post on Epiphany!). So, then, is the ensouling of Adam and Eve the first "choosing" of God from among His creation? First, He chose a very select group, from whom we inherit Original Sin; then, He chose a race, the Hebrews, the Isrealites, from among those who interbred with the soul-less humanoids; finally, in a late stage of our development, He chose to give to all people the opportunity to choose Him (I would have to suggest that we already had the capacity to choose, but without knowledge of religious Truth, our Free Will--on which I am not the expert, see An Examined Life on Free Will--was not, perhaps, as relevant as it later became with reference to our spirituality).
Returning to science fiction, then, the planet in "The Star" is peopled with the non-chosen. By contrast, although his fantasy repudiates the humanoid as anthropomorphic evil, C. S. Lewis's science fiction "other worlds" are populated with ensouled beings--humanoid and non-humanoid alike. For Lewis, all are "chosen."
Does this bring us any closer to theological or evolutionary truth? Not really. But it does demonstrate the ways in which literature is a working out of various theories of the authors, and further demonstrates the beauty of reading, and the ways in which literate activity affects the consciousness, opening the psyche to the possibility of things beyond our narrow experience. Literature invites us to come in without wiping our muddy boots, allows us to muck around a bit, trying out our ideas in new context, or trying its ideas on for size. When we leave, we are invited to take what we want before moving on--or not. Now that's hospitality! (So much for the literacy plug!)
Finally, I agree with CMinor, who says that we must "let God be God."
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Is it a Sin. . .
. . . to believe that certain people shouldn't procreate? I mean, yes, we know that the Catholic Church teaches that all forms of artificial contraception are wrong, but to look at someone who is not Catholic and Thank the Good Lord that She Will Never Procreate. . . Is that wrong? For more, see this post and the articles to which it refers, especially this one. I mean, so much hate must tarnish the gene pool somehow.
Saturday, February 3, 2007
What if?
Imagine that there is a chemical that could be injected into young children that would counteract the cancer-causing carcinogens that come from smoking tobacco. Further, imagine that the state in which you lived began to mandate this treatment for all children, since many children at some point in their lives take up smoking, try smoking, or are exposed to smoke. Presumably there would be resistance to such a practice. After all, not all of the children who would be subjected to the (admittedly easy) treatment would actually be affected, since not all children actually take up smoking, try smoking, or are exposed for long periods of time to cigarette smoke. Moreover, this "cure" for lung cancer, by removing one of the major obstacles to the habit, might actually allow for an increase in consumption of cigarettes, thereby increasing sales and indirectly funding the tobacco corporations. Well, this might be enough to get most people upset. After all, why subject children to a treatment that would benefit today's most vilified corporations?
So maybe this scenario would be better, as it removes the economic objection: Imagine that there is an immunization developed that protects against HIV. Somehow, this immunization would adapt to the mutations of the virus, and prevent anyone exposed to the virus from becoming HIV+. Or I guess they might already be HIV+, since the immunization would be based on the virus in some form, but it would either be benign or unable to multiply or whatever. (My background is not scientific.) So in order to prevent the spread of HIV, and in order to prevent (as in the chemical treatment that protects against lung cancer) insurance and Medicaid expenditures, it is decided that a certain portion of the population must be immunized. This is a mandatory immunization. But because it is fairly costly, the most at-risk population would be singled out and required to participate. Once again this has to be done to fairly young members of the population, before they are sexually active, so the decision is made to screen children for character traits that would make them most at risk to contract the disease. This might cause some concern. Parents might fear that their children would be stigmatized by being identified as "pre-homosexual" or at risk for intravenous drug use later in life. Some might object that since anyone can contract and spread the disease, it is unjust to single out people with certain personality traits.
So the necessary funding is acquired, and now all children will be required to be immunized for HIV between the ages of 8 and 13, or they will not be admitted into public high schools. While this is not an air-borne illness unlike (oh horrors!) chicken pox, because this is still a public health risk, and because the treatments are still costly for the government and for insurance companies, all involved agree that it is necessary to impose this sanction on those parents who refuse this sensible precaution. Some might venture to suggest that, since not all people are ever exposed to the virus, indeed, some (though it might seem hard to believe) never even engage in the activities (including intra-venous drug use) through which the virus is contracted, this is an unnecessary precaution. Further, it might be suggested that since the consequences that deterred young people from engaging in activities (including intra-venous drug use) that promote the spread of the disease have been removed, the activities themselves would be rendered more attractive.
Clearly these scenarios are far-fetched. A vaccination could never be forced on us or on our children to prevent a condition that arises from the deliberate choices and unhealthy actions of an individual (an exception should be made for those who contract HIV through the actions of others, including blood transfusions, or perhaps the infidelity of a spouse; the only exemptions for smokers would be those who began smoking before the health risks were known, and these are a shrinking number). Or could it?
I was concerned when, while in the hospital after bearing my second child, a daughter, I read an article in the local newspaper about the immunization that has been developed against Human Papilloma Virus. Two things in particular worried me: first, that it was being promoted as an "immunization against cancer"; second, that those targeted for the immunizations were young girls, around the age of 12.
I am a minimalist when it comes to medical intervention. Which doesn't mean that I am against medical intervention altogether. I believe wholeheartedly in modern medicine when home remedies are exhausted or the condition necessitates bypassing home remedies, and I am very, very happy that Jonas Salk was a genius. But I am increasingly skeptical of the numbers of immunizations to which we are "required" to subject our children.
I am also worried about the messages that are sent to us and our children about responsibility--or perhaps the messages that are not sent to our children about responsibility. You see, dears, there is a preventative or a quick-fix for everything in life--indeed, for life itself! So when I learned of this immunization for an STD that they didn't talk much about when I was in sex ed, this "cancer causing virus" that affects young women, I was afraid. And now the illustrious governor of Texas is proposing exactly what I feared: the immunization of all young girls against HPV.
Now, to my mind, this is a punishment for those young women who remain celibate. It is also a punishment for those young women who are tricked or seduced, either by young men or by our culture, into not remaining celibate. Furthermore, it is punishment for young girls, by virtue of the fact that they have a cervix and therefore are susceptible to cervical cancer if they should happen to contract the virus from a young boy who has in turn caught it from another young woman and so on and so on. It also represents the removal of one more of the consequences of uninformed, indiscriminate sexual behavior (even among those who feel that they are well-informed, discriminate, and emotionally mature--these are also subject to the tricks and seductions of contemporary society). I'm not sure our inhibitions need to have any of the limited "checks" that still exist removed. But even if this were really a public health issue, I would have a further objection.
Don't get me wrong! There have been objections, but those objections have to do with financial contributions to the governor's campaign. It is only a matter of time before some other illustrious politician proposes the same, and it is rather an accident of fate that Rick Perry should have been paid off in such an obvious fashion instead of a less obvious one. So if this is about money, which it surely is, rather than about cervical cancer, then why not immunize all who can contract the virus? Aaah. . . Because boys can't really be harmed by it. So think. . . If boys couldn't get the virus, who would pass it to the girls, thereby exposing them to the possibility of cervical cancer? Exactly! So I propose this: either don't introduce mandatory vaccinations for anyone, or vaccinate boys only! I'll vouch for my daughters!
So maybe this scenario would be better, as it removes the economic objection: Imagine that there is an immunization developed that protects against HIV. Somehow, this immunization would adapt to the mutations of the virus, and prevent anyone exposed to the virus from becoming HIV+. Or I guess they might already be HIV+, since the immunization would be based on the virus in some form, but it would either be benign or unable to multiply or whatever. (My background is not scientific.) So in order to prevent the spread of HIV, and in order to prevent (as in the chemical treatment that protects against lung cancer) insurance and Medicaid expenditures, it is decided that a certain portion of the population must be immunized. This is a mandatory immunization. But because it is fairly costly, the most at-risk population would be singled out and required to participate. Once again this has to be done to fairly young members of the population, before they are sexually active, so the decision is made to screen children for character traits that would make them most at risk to contract the disease. This might cause some concern. Parents might fear that their children would be stigmatized by being identified as "pre-homosexual" or at risk for intravenous drug use later in life. Some might object that since anyone can contract and spread the disease, it is unjust to single out people with certain personality traits.
So the necessary funding is acquired, and now all children will be required to be immunized for HIV between the ages of 8 and 13, or they will not be admitted into public high schools. While this is not an air-borne illness unlike (oh horrors!) chicken pox, because this is still a public health risk, and because the treatments are still costly for the government and for insurance companies, all involved agree that it is necessary to impose this sanction on those parents who refuse this sensible precaution. Some might venture to suggest that, since not all people are ever exposed to the virus, indeed, some (though it might seem hard to believe) never even engage in the activities (including intra-venous drug use) through which the virus is contracted, this is an unnecessary precaution. Further, it might be suggested that since the consequences that deterred young people from engaging in activities (including intra-venous drug use) that promote the spread of the disease have been removed, the activities themselves would be rendered more attractive.
Clearly these scenarios are far-fetched. A vaccination could never be forced on us or on our children to prevent a condition that arises from the deliberate choices and unhealthy actions of an individual (an exception should be made for those who contract HIV through the actions of others, including blood transfusions, or perhaps the infidelity of a spouse; the only exemptions for smokers would be those who began smoking before the health risks were known, and these are a shrinking number). Or could it?
I was concerned when, while in the hospital after bearing my second child, a daughter, I read an article in the local newspaper about the immunization that has been developed against Human Papilloma Virus. Two things in particular worried me: first, that it was being promoted as an "immunization against cancer"; second, that those targeted for the immunizations were young girls, around the age of 12.
I am a minimalist when it comes to medical intervention. Which doesn't mean that I am against medical intervention altogether. I believe wholeheartedly in modern medicine when home remedies are exhausted or the condition necessitates bypassing home remedies, and I am very, very happy that Jonas Salk was a genius. But I am increasingly skeptical of the numbers of immunizations to which we are "required" to subject our children.
I am also worried about the messages that are sent to us and our children about responsibility--or perhaps the messages that are not sent to our children about responsibility. You see, dears, there is a preventative or a quick-fix for everything in life--indeed, for life itself! So when I learned of this immunization for an STD that they didn't talk much about when I was in sex ed, this "cancer causing virus" that affects young women, I was afraid. And now the illustrious governor of Texas is proposing exactly what I feared: the immunization of all young girls against HPV.
Now, to my mind, this is a punishment for those young women who remain celibate. It is also a punishment for those young women who are tricked or seduced, either by young men or by our culture, into not remaining celibate. Furthermore, it is punishment for young girls, by virtue of the fact that they have a cervix and therefore are susceptible to cervical cancer if they should happen to contract the virus from a young boy who has in turn caught it from another young woman and so on and so on. It also represents the removal of one more of the consequences of uninformed, indiscriminate sexual behavior (even among those who feel that they are well-informed, discriminate, and emotionally mature--these are also subject to the tricks and seductions of contemporary society). I'm not sure our inhibitions need to have any of the limited "checks" that still exist removed. But even if this were really a public health issue, I would have a further objection.
Don't get me wrong! There have been objections, but those objections have to do with financial contributions to the governor's campaign. It is only a matter of time before some other illustrious politician proposes the same, and it is rather an accident of fate that Rick Perry should have been paid off in such an obvious fashion instead of a less obvious one. So if this is about money, which it surely is, rather than about cervical cancer, then why not immunize all who can contract the virus? Aaah. . . Because boys can't really be harmed by it. So think. . . If boys couldn't get the virus, who would pass it to the girls, thereby exposing them to the possibility of cervical cancer? Exactly! So I propose this: either don't introduce mandatory vaccinations for anyone, or vaccinate boys only! I'll vouch for my daughters!
Friday, February 2, 2007
Celtic Music, Anyone?
I don't know if I'm suffering from an excess of ideas this week, or if none of my thoughts on any given thing, idea, or incident are fully formed. So instead of just rambling on whichever topic I happen to catch as it passes by, I will offer this public service announcement (at least I think it's a public service!).
I've had an on-again, off-again thing going on with my iPod. I love the idea of the iPod, but I don't tend to find myself in situations that allow me to block out the rest of the world. I don't walk across campus, since when I am on campus, it is generally to teach or meet in "my" building (we've all got one. . .). I miss the walking, especially on cool, crisp sunny days. I have one of those little doohickeys that allows me to broadcast my iPod to my car stereo, which is cool, but I don't always remember to bring it to the car, etc. Until recently, I had to download my podcasts at school because of the high-speed connection. Now we have DSL. And I remembered to update my iPod. And it's charged.
So. . . I've been listening to an incredible podcast sporadically for several months, and I just had to spare some words for the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast. For those of you in Austin, it's done by Marc Gunn, who is in your neighborhood! I met him once at a Sci Fi, etc. "con" at the university where I currently exist, signed up for his band's (The Brobdingnagian Bards) email list, until Yahoo! kicked me off because I hadn't checked my email in, oh, years. . . So imagine my surprise to learn that he has an awesome podcast! At the time, I was wondering how I could discover new cool music with an utter absence of decent radio stations in my area. Problem solved! The Irish and Celtic Music Podcast is currently in the top 25 podcasts in iTunes, so check them out if you like Celtic music.
Just to get you started, the "new year" podcast was a collection of listener favorites from last year, and is quite a nice mix. It is #29 and was released on January 4, 2007.
Many of my favorites from the last year are included on episode #29, but some other favorite songs/artists have been:
Podcast #25 -"Old Carrion Crow" Michael William Harrison
Podcast #25-"The Scottish Song" Seamus Kennedy (MacBeth in a nutshell--a must hear!)
The Brobdingnagian Bards have a number of amusing songs, and of course, the ones that make you spit out your coffee in the car are the easiest to remember (include in this category "The Scottish Song," above). So from the Bards:
Podcast #24-"Now It's Time To Go" (from Memories of Middle Earth)
Podcast #17 -"The Orange and The Green"
Podcast #16 -"The Unicorn Song"
Podcast #15 -"Jedi Drinking Song"
This turned out to be much more of a Bards plug than I intended, but they have the funny songs, and like I said, funny sticks. This podcast is, overall, great celtic music--funny and serious, so enjoy!
I've had an on-again, off-again thing going on with my iPod. I love the idea of the iPod, but I don't tend to find myself in situations that allow me to block out the rest of the world. I don't walk across campus, since when I am on campus, it is generally to teach or meet in "my" building (we've all got one. . .). I miss the walking, especially on cool, crisp sunny days. I have one of those little doohickeys that allows me to broadcast my iPod to my car stereo, which is cool, but I don't always remember to bring it to the car, etc. Until recently, I had to download my podcasts at school because of the high-speed connection. Now we have DSL. And I remembered to update my iPod. And it's charged.
So. . . I've been listening to an incredible podcast sporadically for several months, and I just had to spare some words for the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast. For those of you in Austin, it's done by Marc Gunn, who is in your neighborhood! I met him once at a Sci Fi, etc. "con" at the university where I currently exist, signed up for his band's (The Brobdingnagian Bards) email list, until Yahoo! kicked me off because I hadn't checked my email in, oh, years. . . So imagine my surprise to learn that he has an awesome podcast! At the time, I was wondering how I could discover new cool music with an utter absence of decent radio stations in my area. Problem solved! The Irish and Celtic Music Podcast is currently in the top 25 podcasts in iTunes, so check them out if you like Celtic music.
Just to get you started, the "new year" podcast was a collection of listener favorites from last year, and is quite a nice mix. It is #29 and was released on January 4, 2007.
Many of my favorites from the last year are included on episode #29, but some other favorite songs/artists have been:
Podcast #25 -"Old Carrion Crow" Michael William Harrison
Podcast #25-"The Scottish Song" Seamus Kennedy (MacBeth in a nutshell--a must hear!)
The Brobdingnagian Bards have a number of amusing songs, and of course, the ones that make you spit out your coffee in the car are the easiest to remember (include in this category "The Scottish Song," above). So from the Bards:
Podcast #24-"Now It's Time To Go" (from Memories of Middle Earth)
Podcast #17 -"The Orange and The Green"
Podcast #16 -"The Unicorn Song"
Podcast #15 -"Jedi Drinking Song"
This turned out to be much more of a Bards plug than I intended, but they have the funny songs, and like I said, funny sticks. This podcast is, overall, great celtic music--funny and serious, so enjoy!
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