As I Was Saying

Talk at Paula’s about skinning animals made me think … about … skinning …

Or did it? Everything makes me think, and nothing. I have opinions about everything, but that doesn’t mean I think about everything. I just have opinions. Sometimes, after venting an opinion, I have a nagging feeling that there was something wrong with it. But what? That I didn’t think about it? That it would somehow create another increment of isolation between myself and the larger crowd? Which is more important: That an opinion reflect considered judgment, or that it somehow add to one’s sense of social contact? We don’t blog just to express ourselves. If no one ever read it, we wouldn't publish it.

My instincts are both social and not. I’m a knee-jerk contrarian. If a bunch of people agree on something, it’s automatic to me that they are forgetting something, or are caught up in group-think. So with this idea that it’s just “wrong” to wear the furry skins of animals, especially warm cuddly animals. Yes, my intuition is the same as everyone else’s: It’s just wrong. But my intuition is to distrust my own intuition. If my first reaction is to take the high road, the nice road, and abhor turning furry animals into articles of clothing, then my first and a half reaction is to go, wait a minute, where’d that come from anyway? Same place that sees up and down as absolute? That is aware despite my disbelief of a supernatural intelligence acting as a guide and counselor every minute of the day? That assumes everyone is basically good and if we just trust each other the world will settle into an stable happy peace? I have those feelings, those gut feelings that my feet are on the ground, God is in heaven and everyone who smiles back can be trusted. Trouble is, my brain can’t be stopped from kicking in, and everything gets questioned again.

Including me. I was going to clarify my thoughts on the use of animals for human comfort. But I changed my mind. I love using animals for comfort, make no mistake. Petting my dog always makes me happy, and he likes it too. The cat rubs up on my leg, and like as not I will pick her up and make her lie back on my arm and endure some embarrassing displays of cross-species affection. But the wearing of fur whose original owner is dead doesn’t bother me, and once I silence that unthinking gut reaction against it I don’t see any reason why it should bother me. But this sort of thinking is only useful if it leads to a philosophical clarification and I ain’t in the mood for that.

Let’s just say I distrust slippery slopes. Gut feelings are about finding your natural place on a slippery slope, but slippery slopes are populated by all sorts of nasty creatures, from religious fanatics on down; and yet, so are the absolutes. Somewhere on this continuum, truth can be found. The trick for each person is finding it. And since “truth can be found” is a statement of faith hence probably not true, I am nagged always by the sense that my own truth, at least, will never be found either. So I will own up to the obvious conclusion: Whether written or said here or in private, don’t think I fully believe in anything that I say.