I was told a story years ago that was meant to be a cautionary tale. Whether it ever actually happened, I seriously doubt it. But that has never stopped a good story from making a point.
It went something like this.
P. T. Barnum was famous around the world for spectacle. When the circus came to town, it didn't simply arrive. It announced itself.
Elephants lumbered down Main Street. Lions rode past in cages. Horses pulled brightly painted wagons while musicians played and performers waved to crowds packed shoulder to shoulder along the sidewalks.
And then came the clowns.
As far as the children were concerned, forget the elephants, forget the acrobats, and forget the man swallowing a sword. The clowns were the real stars.
Barnum, according to the story, believed there was something universal about laughter. Put a clown in front of anybody, anywhere in the world, and sooner or later you would get a smile.
"Hold on. I'm getting there."
So Barnum supposedly decided to prove his theory by taking his show overseas. Europe loved it. Africa loved it. Everywhere the circus went, people laughed at the clowns.
But Barnum wasn't satisfied.
Eventually, the story says, the circus reached a remote island whose inhabitants had virtually no contact with the outside world.
The performance was an overwhelming success.
The children laughed.
The adults laughed.
Even the elders laughed.
Barnum had proven his point. Humor, apparently, really was universal.
When the show ended and the circus caravan began making its way back toward the ship, many of the islanders followed along, waving goodbye.
Then someone started counting heads.
One of the clowns was missing.
Barnum took an interpreter and a couple of armed guards and hurried back to the village.
They found the village chief.
Barnum asked nervously, "Ask him if he knows what happened to one of our clowns."
The interpreter spoke with the chief for several minutes.
There was a long pause.
Barnum finally asked, "Well?"
The interpreter swallowed.
"He says they tried to eat him."
Barnum stared at him.
"Tried?"
"Yes."
"Then where is he?"
The interpreter listened to the chief again, turned back to Barnum, and said:
"They threw him in the water."
"Why?"
Another pause.
The interpreter shrugged.
"He tasted funny."
Which brings me to genetically engineered food.
I warned you I was getting there.
We human beings have been tinkering with what we eat for a very long time. We select, crossbreed, preserve, process, fortify, sweeten, flavor, color, freeze, package, and reformulate it. Modern biotechnology added another tool to that long history.
And that is where my old clown story starts sounding strangely contemporary.
Because the real question isn't whether something tastes funny.
The better question is:
Do we understand what we're eating?
That question deserves something better than fear on one side and blind faith on the other.
"Natural" does not automatically mean good.
"Modified" does not automatically mean bad.
And a scientific-sounding label does not automatically tell an ordinary person what is actually sitting on the dinner plate.
Perhaps that's the real caution hiding inside that ridiculous old story.
Human beings have an extraordinary habit of embracing things before we completely understand them. Sometimes that's how progress happens. Sometimes that's how mistakes happen. Wisdom is knowing the difference, and having the humility to keep asking questions.
So when I'm standing in a supermarket today, looking at row after row of brightly packaged products telling me they're improved, fortified, enhanced, engineered, natural, organic, wholesome, or somehow "new and better," I occasionally think about Barnum.
After all, Barnum understood something about human nature.
We love a good show.
And modern food certainly knows how to put one on.
Bright colors.
Beautiful packaging.
Wonderful promises.
A parade down Main Street couldn't do much better.
Maybe our job as consumers isn't to fear the parade.
Maybe it's simply to remember that once the elephants, music, clowns, advertising, and excitement have passed by, somebody still has to ask the sensible question:
What exactly are we eating?
And if someday scientists announce that they've developed a genetically engineered clown...
I'm checking the label.
Just in case.
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