I was raised as a meat-eater in a family devoted to consuming bacon, chicken, beef, liver, and fish, a family that fished and hunted. But today, I am a vegan. Why the transformation?
It started when I was a teenager, and I adopted a dog when I was 13. I recall one moment when I realized that he was truly a living being. I recall thinking: He is more than a toy. There is something else about him. There is something wonderful in him. But what? What is it that makes him alive? What makes him this living, breathing, being—a miraculous, living being: warm and soft and wet and active and noisy and energetic and so filled with love?! He’s always smiling. He’s always happy. He’s…not like me. He doesn’t seem afraid. He doesn’t ever seem lonely. He never appears sad…or bored…or anxious…or doubtful…or stupid…or fat…or disfigured…or clumsy…or shy…or plagued by mistakes…or yelled at…or late…or embarrassed. He simply is. He seems to accept himself. He seems to accept life. He just goes with the flow; whatever happens, happens; there is nothing to think about; nothing to feel guilty about; nothing to worry about; nothing to fear. Just joy, pure joy. Pure love. Pure happiness. This is what life is…or should be. This is what all people should feel, the wonder of being a dog! He is perfect. He is wonderful. He is…alive.
By the time I was in college I became a vegetarian out of principle because of my feelings toward animal life. As time passed, and I married and had a family, I returned to meat because everyone else in my family ate it, meat is ubiquitous in our society, it is convenient, and fits a busy lifestyle. But I still retained an awe toward the whole of nature, an awe that I find hard to describe; recently, however, Pope Francis wrote an Encyclical Letter on Humans and God's Creation, Laudatum Si, On Care for Our Common Home. I am not a Catholic, but I still find what he says compelling: “The universe unfolds in God, who fills it completely. Hence, there is a mystical meaning to be found in a leaf, in a mountain trail, in a dewdrop, in a poor person’s face. The ideal is not only to pass from the exterior to the interior to discover the action of God in the soul, but also to discover God in all things.”
A few years ago, I began again to return to vegetarianism out of principle, believing in the sanctity of all life. The cause for this change was that my family adopted four rescue pups, who have taught me more about life and myself than any of the great philosophers. I have learned that humans are not in any way or shape better than other creatures. Indeed, I have a new appreciation for all of life: plants, insects, the lowest creatures: they all appear beautiful to me.
It is difficult to live as a vegetarian in our meat-driven, fast-food society, but I felt better about myself, morally, spiritually, and physically, as a vegetarian. I looked upon veganism as a very extreme position, and did not feel the need to go there. And then, last January, I fell ill.
My illness was just a stomach virus, a very bad one, and for an evening and night I was absolutely miserable, frankly a little out of my head. I remember feeling a tremendous sense of guilt as I was vomiting. Why guilt? I’m not quite sure, but in my lowest moment of the illness, I began to repeat to myself a mantra, “I should become a vegan. I should become a vegan.” It was, I suppose, an epiphany.
And since then, I am vegan, nor do I anticipate returning to vegetarianism or the lifestyle of consuming meat. Being vegan is much more difficult even than being a vegetarian. But spiritually, morally, it feels right. I find this view reflected in Pope Francis’s encyclical: “It is enough to recognize that our body itself establishes us in a direct relationship with the environment and with other living beings. The acceptance of our bodies as God’s gift is vital for welcoming and accepting the entire world as a gift from the Father and our common home, whereas thinking that we enjoy absolute power over our own bodies turns, often subtly, into thinking that we enjoy absolute power over creation. Learning to accept our body, to care for it and to respect its fullest meaning, is an essential element of any genuine human ecology.”
It started when I was a teenager, and I adopted a dog when I was 13. I recall one moment when I realized that he was truly a living being. I recall thinking: He is more than a toy. There is something else about him. There is something wonderful in him. But what? What is it that makes him alive? What makes him this living, breathing, being—a miraculous, living being: warm and soft and wet and active and noisy and energetic and so filled with love?! He’s always smiling. He’s always happy. He’s…not like me. He doesn’t seem afraid. He doesn’t ever seem lonely. He never appears sad…or bored…or anxious…or doubtful…or stupid…or fat…or disfigured…or clumsy…or shy…or plagued by mistakes…or yelled at…or late…or embarrassed. He simply is. He seems to accept himself. He seems to accept life. He just goes with the flow; whatever happens, happens; there is nothing to think about; nothing to feel guilty about; nothing to worry about; nothing to fear. Just joy, pure joy. Pure love. Pure happiness. This is what life is…or should be. This is what all people should feel, the wonder of being a dog! He is perfect. He is wonderful. He is…alive.
By the time I was in college I became a vegetarian out of principle because of my feelings toward animal life. As time passed, and I married and had a family, I returned to meat because everyone else in my family ate it, meat is ubiquitous in our society, it is convenient, and fits a busy lifestyle. But I still retained an awe toward the whole of nature, an awe that I find hard to describe; recently, however, Pope Francis wrote an Encyclical Letter on Humans and God's Creation, Laudatum Si, On Care for Our Common Home. I am not a Catholic, but I still find what he says compelling: “The universe unfolds in God, who fills it completely. Hence, there is a mystical meaning to be found in a leaf, in a mountain trail, in a dewdrop, in a poor person’s face. The ideal is not only to pass from the exterior to the interior to discover the action of God in the soul, but also to discover God in all things.”
A few years ago, I began again to return to vegetarianism out of principle, believing in the sanctity of all life. The cause for this change was that my family adopted four rescue pups, who have taught me more about life and myself than any of the great philosophers. I have learned that humans are not in any way or shape better than other creatures. Indeed, I have a new appreciation for all of life: plants, insects, the lowest creatures: they all appear beautiful to me.
It is difficult to live as a vegetarian in our meat-driven, fast-food society, but I felt better about myself, morally, spiritually, and physically, as a vegetarian. I looked upon veganism as a very extreme position, and did not feel the need to go there. And then, last January, I fell ill.
My illness was just a stomach virus, a very bad one, and for an evening and night I was absolutely miserable, frankly a little out of my head. I remember feeling a tremendous sense of guilt as I was vomiting. Why guilt? I’m not quite sure, but in my lowest moment of the illness, I began to repeat to myself a mantra, “I should become a vegan. I should become a vegan.” It was, I suppose, an epiphany.
And since then, I am vegan, nor do I anticipate returning to vegetarianism or the lifestyle of consuming meat. Being vegan is much more difficult even than being a vegetarian. But spiritually, morally, it feels right. I find this view reflected in Pope Francis’s encyclical: “It is enough to recognize that our body itself establishes us in a direct relationship with the environment and with other living beings. The acceptance of our bodies as God’s gift is vital for welcoming and accepting the entire world as a gift from the Father and our common home, whereas thinking that we enjoy absolute power over our own bodies turns, often subtly, into thinking that we enjoy absolute power over creation. Learning to accept our body, to care for it and to respect its fullest meaning, is an essential element of any genuine human ecology.”