This article by Gail Collins got me to thinking.
Quick Aside:
Gail Collins often gets me to thinking and chuckling and weeping upon occasion. Good stuff, that. Truth be told, George W. Bush, Dick Cheney and Don Rumsfeld frequently had the same effect upon me.
But for significantly different reasons.
Where was I?
Oh yeah, eggs and us. These aren’t chicken, duck or ostrich eggs mind you. No, we’re talking about bona fide, homo sapien eggs. The kind that — under certain circumstances — turn into human people. Note that I didn’t say under all circumstances. Trust me, there are some folks wandering about this planet who started as human-ish eggs, but clearly have yet to develop into real, human people, (the aforementioned trio?), but that’s a discussion for another time.
Ms. Collins is writing about eggs and human personhood.
Yes, you read that right; eggs … and … personhood. It shouldn’t come as a really big surprise that some within our Village firmly believe that a fertilized human egg is — from the millisecond moment of conception — a yet-to-develop but fully fledged member of the human race. (If the image of a dimly lit lightbulb comes to mind … well, who am I to interfere with your mind?) Anyway, as such, (a fully fledged, human racer), it possesses (or should possess) the same rights and privileges within the Village as a toddling child.
Now some of you are going to view that perspective as nothing more than a cynical GOP attempt at recruiting more conservative, Science-Is-Voodoo Republicans, but I must gently remind you that while the childish can and do vote, (not to mention get elected to Congress far too frequently), children cannot. Yet. I’m sure that at some point, when the frothy and bug-eyed conservative wing of the Republican Party comes face to face with the reality of its white, male and shriveling demographic, they’ll begin efforts at lowering the voting age to thumb suckers. (I know what you’re thinking, and shame on you. Just because a handful of Tea Party congresspeople already do that when they don’t get their way doesn’t mean they all carry a soft blankie and suckle their pollex in between meetings with fantastically wealthy donors.)
I could be wrong.
At any rate, some folks believe human life begins at conception, which is — if you care to believe anything science has to say — when that one among many sperm wriggles his way along and through the Fallopian obstacle course and plunges headlong into the egg, thereby winning the blue ribbon and locking the door to all other comers. (Pun intended.)
I, however, see things a bit differently.
Let’s have a closer look at how this really plays out, shall we? First we have the unfertilized egg. This layabout materializes from “someplace north”, and then drifts south (obviously via simple gravity or some other form of magic) until she runs out of steam and starts hanging out on Fallopian Tube Avenue, looking for well-endowed, good looking drifters. Seriously, THIS female wastrel is where we put all the emphasis in this debate? I mean, c’mon people, this is the very definition of a deadbeat. Where’s the drive, the ambition, the assertive determination to make something of oneself? In a world of Makers and Takers, where image is everything, the human (female generated) egg demonstrates a sorry lack of initiative and/or American spunk. While I’m at it, (and this may be a bit painful for some), I may as well give a nod toward the elephant in the room. (Yes, I’m going there.) Simply put, what do we call someone who hangs around busy thoroughfares just waiting to conjugate a sexual-ish relationship with whoever shows up? Hah! See what I mean? And not only that, but this individual is willing to consummate a “deal” with any “one among millions”!
That should stagger the moral b’jezus out of the most hardened among us.
Now, the princely sperm on the other hand, (pun once again intended), is the very acme of resolve, enterprise and rugged individualism. To begin with, it’s a human-ish cannonball is it not? (And no safety net!) That fact in and of itself is quite impressive. Having survived the initial launch, our stalwart warrior must then blaze a path through an unknown wilderness that makes Lewis & Clark’s expedition look like a traipse through a daisy’d meadow. Add to all that the simple reality that he’s obviously not the only guy; he’s in a race that includes literally millions of competitors who understand there is no second place. With rare exceptions, only one of these perky little chaps is going to get the gold medal. (Note: there are no silver or bronze medals. You either win, or you perish.)
That’s serious motivation.
Anyway, our little warrior’s got some fierce competition nipping at his heels, and if he expects to reach the finish line before everybody else, he can’t even afford to blink, much less pause along the way to catch his breath.
You might be wondering where I’m going with all this, and good for you if you do.
I’m trying to provide a fresh and undiluted perspective to this mess. Look, the simple truth is, Life, (Big “L”) obviously has little or nothing to do with the feckless (dare I say irresponsible?) egg. Hey, eggs are most obviously not rugged individualistic trail blazers, right? Real scientists already know all that. My point here is quite simple, and needs very little by way of explanation. Since I spent quite a good deal of time in the field of aviation, let me summarize things from that general perspective.
Life — in the great and wondrous sense of the word — begins not at the moment of conception, (drum roll, please), but rather at that wondrous moment …
… when the aircraft depart the hangar.
That’s right folks, you read it here first. I’m saying that life begins not at conception — that silly point in time when our stalwart and virile hero-sperm meets up with the lazybones egg and charms his way into her graces, so to speak — but rather at that consequential moment of gonadic blastoff itself. Close your eyes and just try to imagine the war whoops those millions of teeny-weeny weenie warriors holler and shout as they hurtle and plunge and dash forth into the unknown abyss. Every one of those minuscule fellows understands that for all but one, this is a suicide mission, and yet they burst forth with every crumb and whit of energy they can muster. Granted, they’re all looking for the first trollop that comes along, but that’s beside the point. These lads are willing to sacrifice everything, to take one for the team you might say, because they are gushingly full of?
Life.
Yes indeed, this is gob-smacking stuff, pure and simple.
Of course, as with all great and seminal propositions, there are a few bothersome bits of philosophical detritus that straggle and slog in trail like Joe Hooker’s Brigade. One “problem” that springs readily to hand is the inherent, moral dilemma of male masturbation. If life truly begins at … well, you know … then that means millions and millions of lives are lost at the warm hands of cold-blooded assassins. Now good folk everywhere simply won’t allow something like that to stand uncontested, which means laws must be devised and revised in order to countervail such a monstrous thing.
And therein lies the rub. That means men (i.e. all post-pubescent males) will be required to rein in and check their sexual desires and impulses, and save that bounty of life for man/woman copulation wherein the desired and intended outcome is a baby. (Anything else is, plainly, homicide of one form or another.) Understandably, the only way to ensure all that Neanderthal-ish libidinousness gets properly channeled is through the moderate application of poultices, medicinals, prayer vigils, or in truly hardcore cases — i.e. the non-complying, turgid hordes — the immoderate application of surgical solutions. (You know what I mean.)
Naturally, one can expect a bit of push-back from the porn industry, latex manufacturers, a few magazines of the glossy variety, most of the Internets and basically all men on the planet. No doubt penal detention will become necessary and probably quite frequently applied. But given enough time, men, as they are so readily apt to do, will come to their senses and embrace the logical, new order of things.
The really good news is, most members of the new Congress we just elected are going to absolutely adore the concept, since this makes the entire notion of egghood = personhood rather moot, (one might call it a preemptive strike), which means all those new congresspeople won’t have to bicker and joust with the liberals and conservatives and troglodytes back home. (Well, at least about that subject.)
The really bad news is, since most members of Congress wholeheartedly embrace the concept of the perpetual circle jerk, this new understanding of when life begins will probably put a slight twist in their knickers and cramp their masturbatory style. But as I mentioned in a preceding paragraph, ” . . . given enough time, men, (read Congress), as they are so readily apt to do, will come to their senses and embrace the logical, new order of things.”
Right.
So, there you have it; the solution we’ve all been waiting for. It’s so simple, I can’t believe someone didn’t think of it before.
