I am not now and have never been a vegetarian. I eat meat often enough with relish (the attitudinal kind) such that I might justifiably be called a "meat-lover", especially of well-prepared pig and duck. Of steak I can only say "if well marbled and excellently prepared" it may represent a gustatory slice of that locus of eternal reward Christians call "heaven". Chicken rates pretty low for me, and lamb belongs grilled and sliced on pita with hummus and hot sauce.
That said, and since I am already deploying Christian metaphor, it is a near certainty that if there is a place in hell reserved for those who partake in the suffering of other creatures, then all of us who, at the very least, eat meat that comes from factory farms (and probably all meat no matter its provenance)will be at best getting stung continually by bees and buffeted by harsh wind in Dante's outer circle.
I say this because I have, courtesy of an unremembered string of internet search references, watched videos of what happens in a factory farm for pigs and also what happens in a factory dairy farm (get ready for hellfire, milk-drinkers!).
Not desiring to tout the lurid, let me say that if the Universe is aware of suffering, then the Universe is very, very aware of, and its wave motions deeply disturbed by, the sheer dumb suffering that takes place in these awful factory farms.
Pigs, as we know, are rather intelligent. Much worse their fate that they are also fat and worse still, tasty to those more intelligent raptors called human beings that are so like unto gods that they can produce the occasional Shakespeare and Jimi Hendrix. For these humans hold pigs captive in crowded, filthy, diseased, cruel, violent, bloody, absolutely hellacious conditions the only merciful escape from which is their inevitable murder to suit the godlike palates of the raptor captors. One can safely assert that there in that living hell, but for an opposable thumb and a few extra cells of gray matter, go you or I.
Cows fare no better of course, and I have only watched a video about cows that give milk. Safe to say, based on my narrow observation, that the notion of the dairy cow in a field of green with a bell around its neck ruminating sweet grass and daisies, is entirely a marketer's concoction for the milk-drinker's fancy. These cows too are held captive in crowded, filthy, diseased, cruel, violent, bloody, absolutely hellacious conditions from which they have no escape as they are forced to provide milk on a regular basis, even if they have to be cruelly prodded to stand from weakness and gross physical malfunctions in order to do so.
Does this mean I have the moral strength to stop eating meat? It does not. Do I find justification in the notion that I did not make myself, and that my body seems to require meat? I do. Would I much rather find, at least, non-factory meat and dairy not to assuage my guilt but to actually promote some reduction of pain among the creatures who find their way, cut into pieces or as sucked from their teats, on our plates and in our cereal bowls? Yes.
I have no links to offer, as this is not a screed nor call to action. It is simply a record of the operation of my personal conscience which finds itself torn between a love of roasted flesh and compassion for sentient beings. That it is a dilemma at all--and it is a genuine one, no matter what beliefs vegetarians seem to hold dear--may prove simply that all is vanity.
